


Choices

by realmsoffreedom



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Eating Disorders, F/M, Hockey AU, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, engame muke and cashton, this is not as graphic as previous stories i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-22 05:46:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3717412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realmsoffreedom/pseuds/realmsoffreedom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say the choices you make are the ones that define you and stay with you forever.</p><p>So, why does the answer seem so <i>clear</i>? And why is it the one that <i>no one</i> wants to accept?</p><p>5sos hockey au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my 5sos hockey au. It took me a while to put this up, I'm sorry. I've kinda been obsessing over MCR lately - in fact, MCR fans, I have a story up, if you wanna check it out.
> 
> Anyways, I'm hoping for this story to be longer and less angsty than any of my other stories. This means slow updates, but I'm sure you'll enjoy them. Comments would be lovely, as this is something I'm trying, and I hope less angst and more fluff works out, at least for this story. Enjoy.

“Irwin, you’re up!” 

Ashton skates out to the center of the ice, positioning himself between the blue line and the goal line. In front of him is a net, with foam targets in each of the corners. Each player is passed puck after puck, until he can knock down each target. Coach is keeping track of their times – how long it takes to take out all our targets, so they’re expected to be on top of their game. 

He’s passed the first puck, focused on the net right in front of him. He catches it easily, sending it flying into the first target with a practiced perfection. The same thing happens for the next three, in perfect succession. He barely has time to think between shots, and only after he’s done, does he let out the breath he’s been holding and sigh in relief. 

“16 seconds!”

The praise from the rest of his team roars in his ears, unwavering pride flooding through him. He skates back to the side of the rink, sitting down in the empty space on the bench. 

“Great job, Irwin!” Coach praises. “The only one faster than you is Hemmings. By two seconds.”

Ashton rolls his eyes. He’s not as fast as Hemmings – the skinny blond is built much like that of a green bean, with a lanky frame, and long, thin legs. He’s got broad shoulders, which make him look a lot more muscular than he actually is. Ashton, on the other hand, is extremely muscular, and he’s proud of it. He’s proud of how menacing it makes him look, big biceps, toned body, thick thighs – he looks a lot stronger than Hemmings, even if Luke is faster. 

“Clifford, get out there!”

Clifford’s turn is less than stellar- it takes him almost a minute to hit all the targets. Ashton rolls his eyes at the pathetic attempt. He doesn’t even know why Clifford was put on the team – he’s alright, but a lot of his skills are lackluster. He’s not extremely fast, like Hemmings, not extremely defensive, like Hood, and definitely not offensive, like Ashton himself. Clifford is just _average_.

“Still can’t beat me, eh Irwin?”

Ashton looks up and rolls his eyes. “I didn’t expect to beat you at this, Hemmings. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m our best scorer. Don’t need to be the fastest, to do that.”

Luke smirks. “You wouldn’t be able to score any of those goals without me. I’m fast as fuck, and I’m all over the place, giving you every assist I can. You need me to help you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Ashton uses his stick to push himself up, glaring at the blond as he moves to stand in front of him. “The bigger your ego is, the cockier you are. I don’t want egotistic dicks who think they’re the best at everything and don’t need to try, on my team.”

“Last time I checked, it’s not _your_ team,” Luke retorts. “You’re just captain. And a shitty captain, at that.”

“Shut the fuck up, before I _make_ you regret saying that.”

Luke opens his mouth to respond, but he’s interrupted by coach calling them all over. Ashton smirks at the taller blond’s angered expression, before skating off.

…

Ashton has never understood why people take such _long_ showers in the locker room. Why would you purposefully want to spend more time in a crowded space, with a bunch of people you don’t even _like_? He always takes a short shower, and is out of that locker room in less than a half hour. To him, spending any more time with the idiots on his hockey team than he has to, is stupid. 

“Wait up, Ash!”

Ashton groans, turning around. “ _Please_ tell me you’re not going to make me wait for you, so I can drive you home.”

Calum smiles sheepishly at him, wrapping the towel tighter around his slim waist. “I just need to get dressed and get my stuff, can you please wait?”

“I’m not your best friend who gives out rides like candy.” Ashton scoffs at him, but despite his annoyance, he’ll wait. He can’t say no to anyone – that’s one of his fatal flaws, you could say. He’s _too_ damn nice. 

“We’re teammates,” Calum reminds him, as he lets his towel drop. Ashton cringes, looking away. He doesn’t understand how Calum is so comfortable with letting the entire team see his dick. Maybe it’s his own insecurities creeping in, but he knows for a fact that he would never let Calum – or any of the other guys on the team, for that matter – see his naked body. It’s just a matter of privacy – Calum’s way too comfortable with the entire male population.

Calum grabs his duffel bag and swings it over his shoulder, and then slams his locker shut. “Let’s go.”

…

“Hi baby, sorry I’m late. I had to drop Calum off, he weaseled his way into getting a ride again.”

Kendall winds her arms tighter around his waist, kissing him in response. “It’s okay,” she replied softly, resting her forehead against his. “My mom baked some cookies this afternoon, and there’s leftover pizza in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

Ashton usually doesn’t go home after practice. His mum is always working, and his siblings are usually off at extracurriculars themselves. Rather than go home to an empty house, he comes to his girlfriend’s. Kendall’s parents love him, and they’re happy to let him stay the night, if the need arises. His family has known hers for quite some time, so it’s really not a big deal.

“I’m good for now.” Ashton pulls away from her, taking her hand. “Can we go upstairs?”

Kendall leads him up the stairs, straight into her room. He sighs, flopping down onto the mattress, facedown. He feels her sit down next to him, a steady hand beginning to rub his back.

“You’ve looked off ever since you got home,” Kendall says softly. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s…it’s nothing.” Ashton lifts his head, turning onto his side so he can look at her and she can still rub his back. “I’m just tired. Haven’t been sleeping very well.”

“You know you can stay over.” She leans down and kisses his cheek. “My parents love you, they won’t mind. I know your house is stressful…with your mum always gone and having to be there for the kids.”

“That’s not fair.” Ashton shakes his head. “My mum shouldn’t have to be responsible for everything, with both of them, if I come here for the night. She needs help. She needs me home, Ken.”

“I know that.” Kendall’s hand stills on his back. “But you have to take care of yourself too. You won’t be much help if you’re dead on your feet and about to collapse.”

“You wouldn’t mind if I took a nap, would you?” Ashton asks. “Practice was grueling, and you’re right, I _do_ feel dead on my feet. It’s not a good feeling…”

“Go ahead, babe.” She helps him into a better sleeping position, head on the pillow, still lying on his side. “I’ll sit right here, I have some homework I can do while you sleep.”

“I love you.”

She smiles at him. “I love you too.”

…

“I fucked up.”

Sylvie’s eyes widen at that greeting – Michael isn’t the most positive person on the planet, but he’s usually happier than that, after practice. He loves hockey more than anything – she can’t see why he’d be so upset after practice.

“What happened?” She lets him wrap his arms around her waist and shove his face into the crook of his neck. 

“I was awful today,” Michael admits. “I fucked up all the drills, I missed three passes, and I accidentally scored on the other team’s goal. The entire team was either laughing at me or looking at me and wondering why I was even put on the team. Coach was disappointed – he couldn’t even _look_ at me, after practice.”

“I’m sure you weren’t that bad.” She feels terrible for him; he’s obviously wrecked by this, and he hates when he messes up. Michael’s really hard on himself, he tends to beat himself up for no good reason – that’s what he’s doing right now. 

“You weren’t there. I was shit.”

He straights, his weight off her back, and runs a hand through his messy red hair. “Maybe if I dye my hair again, it’ll give me an air of confidence.”

Sylvie rolls her eyes. “Where’d you pull that from? Your ass? I’m pretty sure that a new hair color isn’t gonna make you any more or less confident than before.”

“You don’t know that,” Michael replies playfully. “New hair, new me.”

“What about a new girlfriend to add to that?” She teases, grinning when the smile fades from his face. “Don’t pout at me, you know I’m joking. I love you too much to ever leave you, you moron.”

“I was serious about the new hair, new me thing!” Michael glances over, into the locker room mirror. “What about blue?” 

“It’s already been blue, dipshit.”

“A different shade of blue,” Michael amends. “I had this really obnoxious blue last time.”

“I’m so glad I didn’t know you then.” Sylvie laughs, shaking her head. “I probably wouldn’t be dating you, if I did.”

“You love me.” Michael dismisses her statement easily, examining his hair in the mirror. “I think I’m actually gonna dye it. Want me to dye your hair too?”

“First of all, I am not dyeing my hair blue in the next century. And second, what makes you think I’d let you near my hair with a bottle of hair dye? What makes you think you’ll be able to do your own without fucking it up?”

Michael smiles sheepishly at her. “I was hoping you’d do it for me…”

“You better lose that hope.”

“Bitch.”

“Asshole.”

“I love you.” Michael molds his body back onto hers, so her back is flush against his chest, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder. “And I played really bad today, and I don’t want to dye my hair because of it. I wanna cuddle.”

“I somehow assumed that’d factor into the equation.” Sylvie turns her head, to meet his lips in a kiss. 

…

Luke grumbles to himself, slamming puck after puck into the net. He sends them flying, so fast that if one was to collide with someone, they’d be in pain for days. 

“Luke?”

“ _What_?!”

“Whoa there, turbo.” 

Luke turns around, wincing. “Babe…I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just pissed at the world.” He sets his stick on the ice, and skates over to the edge of the rink.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too, you idiot.” Ally rolls her eyes at him. “Practice ended almost an hour ago – why the fuck are you still here?”

“I’m trying to pretend that the goal post is Ashton Irwin, and the hockey pucks are my fists.”

Ally’s smile fades. “What the hell happened? I’m _friends_ with Kendall, what makes you hate her boyfriend so damn much?”

“He’s an entitled asshole that thinks he can do whatever the fuck he wants, just because he’s team captain.” Luke rubs a hand over his face and sighs. “Give me twenty minutes, I’ll take a quick shower and change, and then we can go.”

“Let’s go home,” Ally tells him. “I got permission from my parents to stay over tonight. We’ll go straight back to your place, and you can shower there, and then tell me exactly why you hate Ashton so much. Sound good?”

Luke nods. “Yeah, that sounds perfect. I love you, thank you.”

“I love you too.”

…

“Cal, these bruises look pretty bad…”

Calum sighs, reaching up to card his fingers through his girlfriend’s hair. “I play defense, Kyra, I get checked into the boards like no damn tomorrow. Of course they’re gonna be bad. They’ll heal. I’m okay.”

Kyra shakes her head, pushing up his shirt to get a better look. Calum knows exactly what she’s so worried about – the skin of his torso and chest is purpled with bruises, wrapping around his middle, going all the way to his back. They hurt – that was no secret – but he knows he can deal with it. 

“Stop worrying, come here.” Calum moves her hand away, pulling his shirt back down. He extends his hand out to her, pulling her onto his chest. The moment her body makes contact with his, he winces, but ignores the pain, hugging his girlfriend tightly.

“I hate when you get hurt, Cal…”

“I’m okay,” he murmurs. “Just a little beat up, but that’s what playing hockey is all about.”

“I don’t want you to be hurt all the time…” 

Calum sighs and scoots a few inches away, so he’s able to see her face. He leans in and brushes the fringe out of her eyes. “I love you. And I know that you’re worried, but I’m fine, I promise. Relax, yeah? You’re coming to the next game, you can watch me play, watch me kick some ass.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” She leans in and kisses him softly. 

“I can’t wait to see you there,” Calum replies, once they’ve pulled away. “But for now, come closer. Let’s cuddle.”

Kyra moves toward him, and he pulls her back into his arms, dropping a kiss on the top of her head, and holding her tightly to his chest. “I love you. I love you so much.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long to post - I'm trying to make it more of a happy story, and I've been in a pretty dark mood lately, so it was hard to write. But it's done, so enjoy.

“I think I might quit the team.”

Shocked at her boyfriend’s words, Sylvie whirls around to stare at him. “What?”

Michael sighs. “I’m no good, Sylvie. I’ve been to three practices, and my performance at each one has been worse than the last. I’m not cut out for this. I don’t even know why I begged coach to make an exception and let me try out.”

“Mikey, what are you talking about?” She makes her way over to him, scooting onto his bed beside him. “I’ve seen you play – you’re amazing. I don’t know why you feel like you don’t measure up in practice, but you’re a monster on the ice.”

“When it’s just you,” Michael mumbles. “When it’s just you, I’m great. When it was just coach and the captain, I was great. But with the entire team watching me and judging my every move…I freeze and forget everything I know how to do.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not good, babe.” She leans in and brushes a part of his fringe away from his face. He looks so heartbroken over this – hockey is one of the most important things in the world to him, and the realization that he isn’t good is probably eating him alive. She hates how he beats himself up so much – he’s a good hockey player, they both know it. The anxiety that seems to control him is just fucking with his mind, and she hates how badly it’s affecting him.

“Tell you what,” She continues, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Let’s go to the rink. I’ll watch you, and maybe that’ll remind you of how _good_ you are.”

“I’m not so sure…”

“Don’t think, just grab your gear, let’s go.” She kisses him quickly, before standing. “Mikey, come on. Trust me. This will help. You need to rediscover your love for hockey. It shouldn’t be something that makes you hate yourself. It’s your escape – it’s always been. You need to realize that.”

…

“Ash, honey, do you mind going to talk to your sister? She’s having some problems at school, and she won’t tell me anything. She said she’s only willing to talk to you.”

Ashton nods to his mother. “Of course, mum. I’ve got practice in a bit, but maybe I’ll take her on a drive and see if I can coax whatever it is out of her.”

“Thank you so much, baby.” Anne leans down and kisses her son’s cheek, smiling at him. “You do so much for us; you’re such a big help. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Trying to get rid of me, are you?” Ashton smirks. “I’m here for another year, mum. You have to put up with me for another year.”

“Gladly,” she replies. “When your father left…I didn’t think I could do it, Ashton. Raise the three of you on my own. But you stepped up. And I think all three of you have turned out alright.”

“I thought we were done talking about that bastard,” Ashton mutters. “Didn’t we say we weren’t going to bring him up again? I don’t want to remember that, mum. All my teammates, all my friends, they’ve all grown up knowing what it’s like to have a father.”

“And because of you, Harry and Lauren have too,” Anne says softly. “The only regret I have is not being able to provide a consistent father figure in your life.”

“I wanted Harry and Lauren to have what I never did.” Ashton looks up from his lap, meeting his mum’s eyes. “I want them to never look back on their lives and wonder how everything would be different, if they’d had a dad.”

“You’re doing an amazing job, baby. Trust me on this – you are _so_ much better of a father to Harry and Lauren than your father would have _ever_ been.”

…

“What’s up with you, babe?”

Lauren shrugs, staring out the window. “It’s nothing, Ashy. Mum’s worrying for no good reason, yet again.”

“Now, I don’t think that’s the case,” Ashton chides softly, pulling into an abandoned parking lot. He parks quickly, before turning off the car and facing his sister. “What’s going on, babe? Talk to me. It’s just us here, no one else.”

“People are really fucking mean, Ash.”

Ashton doesn’t bother reprimanding her on her swearing – if she has to censor herself, he may not get everything out of her. The best way to coax her to talk is to let her go, uncensored, cursing up a storm, expressing her emotions.

“Like, I don’t get it. How is it fun to tear another person down to their breaking point, and laugh while you do it? Why is the world _that_ fucked up?”

“Lauren, babe…” Ashton whispers. “Are you being bullied, sweetheart?”

Lauren’s silent for a few moments, tearing her gaze away from his, and shifting it back toward the window. She turns back to him, and her face is tearstained. Ashton feels his heart crack, the gap expanding and filling with pain. It’s not fair – he never wanted his sister to have to go through the hell he went through in school. Now that it’s senior year, it’s let up, but he was horrendously bullied as well – it’s a terrible pain he wishes on no one.

She nods slightly, affirming it, and Ashton sighs. He opens his car door and gets out, motioning for her to do the same. Outside, he’s able to pull her into his chest, hugging her as tightly as he can, and pressing multiple kisses to her head.

Lauren lifts her head up from his chest, glancing at him. “Will it get better, Ashy? Will they ever stop looking at me as their target or their punching bag?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Ashton says firmly. “It’ll get better, I promise you.”

“How do you know?”

Ashton heaves another sigh. “I was bullied, in middle school. And then it got worse in high school, so I joined the hockey team in sophomore year, and set out to be the best, so people wouldn’t use me as their target. I worked my ass off to be captain, and then when I finally got it, people started to stop. I mean, I’m not popular, not by any means, and I don’t want to be, but people leave me alone. Maybe because they know I’ll take a hockey stick to their face, if they mess with me.”

“The kids at school…they don’t like me, because they think I feel entitled, since my big brother is the captain of the high school hockey team.”

That’s like a punch to the stomach.

It’s _his_ fault. 

His little sister is getting tortured because of _him_.

“Ashy?” Lauren looks at him worriedly. “It’s not your fault, Ashy. They’re just jealous that their big brothers aren’t as good as you.”

“That’s no fucking reason to make your life hell,” Ashton mutters.

“But there’s one thing I have, that they’ll never take away from me.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

Lauren smiles. “The best big brother in the entire world. I love you so much, Ashy. I’m so glad you’re my big brother.”

…

“Can I crash at your place again tonight? My dad was apparently at our last practice, and that means I’m going home to a list of things I fucked up, and a lecture on how much of a failure I am.”

Ally glances at him with worry in her eyes, but nods all the same. “You really should talk to your dad about letting up on you. You’re an amazing player – he just needs to accept that you’re not NHL material _yet_. You will be, I can promise you that.”

“I’m just sick of listening to his shit,” Luke replies sullenly. He winds his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. “That’s why I’m at the rink as much as possible. I hate going home.”

“That’s serious, Luke…” Ally sighs, leaning into his embrace, and twisting her neck to press her lips to his cheek. “You need to talk to your mum, at least. Maybe she can tell your dad to calm the actual fuck down.”

“I’ve tried.” Luke’s voice is muffled by his girlfriend’s shoulder as he replies. “Believe me, I’ve tried. No one can oppose my father. Getting into an argument with him is like getting into an argument with a lion. No matter whether you’re right or not, you’ll never win.”

“Luke…”

“I don’t wanna talk about this anymore,” Luke says. “I don’t really wanna talk at all. Just wanna cuddle you and sleep. I’m ready for this day to be over.”

Ally’s worrying only escalates, as he finishes the sentence. She knows that things at home aren’t the best for him right now, but he’s changed a lot in the past few weeks. He’s gotten much more quiet, just preferring cuddles and a movie, rather than their previous late night talks that both of them used to live for.

“I love you,” Luke mumbles softly. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a shit boyfriend recently. I really love you, Al.”

Ally smiles, breaking out of his hold and turning to face him. She presses her lips to his, kissing him gently. When they pull back, she presses another kiss to his cheek. “I love you too, babe. I know you’ve had a hard time these past couple weeks – it’s okay. You’ve still been a fucking amazing boyfriend. I love you so much, I just want you to be okay.”

…

“Fuckfuckfuck I need ice!”

Those are Calum’s first words, as he stumbles into Kyra’s house, basically collapsing into her arms. His worried girlfriend holds him tightly, propping him against the couch. “Cal? Babe, what the hell happened to you?”

“Hockey practice.”

The two words make her cringe, and she immediately understands. Getting up, she goes into the kitchen, pulling a few icepacks from the freezer. All the while, she’s thanking the lord that no one is home. If her mum and brothers were here, they’d be giving Calum the third degree, and she really doesn’t think he’s in the mood for that.

“I’ve got the ice, babe. Where does it hurt?”

“My left shoulder, ribs, and face.” Calum smiles gratefully at her, as she hands him the icepacks. “Thank you, babe. It’s already helping.”

Kyra nods, lifting his shirt to put one of the icepacks on his ribs. “Holy fucking shit, Calum!”

His chest is splotched with blue and purple, bruising looking like paint against his tanned skin. These don’t look like bruises from hockey…something’s wrong. Something is seriously wrong here.

“Calum…what’s wrong on? These don’t look like bruises from hockey practice. This is really serious.”

Calum sits up, struggling in the process. “It’s nothing, babe. I was slammed into the boards a lot at practice today, that’s all. Nothing else is wrong, I promise.”

“Please Cal, don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying, baby,” Calum murmurs. He hugs her down, onto his lap. “I’m sorry I keep worrying you. I don’t want to. I don’t mean to. I love you. Hockey is a rough sport, and getting hurt is part of it, especially being a defenseman, like I am. We’re roughed up. That’s all this is. I don’t mind being hurt – being able to play is so worth it. I love playing hockey, it’s what keeps me sane, at this point. It’s like an escape. A few bumps and bruises are nothing compared to the rush it gives me.”

“I just worry about you, Cal…” Kyra sighs, leaning against him. “I still don’t think you should be getting this hurt from hockey practice. It’s _practice_ , they’re not supposed to come at you with the intention of hurting you. They’re not supposed to be this rough.”

Calum sighs. “I’ll be okay. But if it really bothers you this much, I’ll talk to coach about toning it down a bit.”

“Good.” A more relieved tone makes it into her voice, as she relaxes against him. “It’s hard, seeing you hurt. I love you – I don’t want to see bruises all over your body…”

“I know.” Calum leans in and kisses her hair. “I know. And it’s sweet, having you worry about me. I love it. And I love you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to start picking up soon, I promise. These first few chapters have to be written, so we can get into the drama and actual conflict of the story. Stick with me, it'll pick up, I promise. And sorry if this chapter's a little Mikey heavy...after what happened, I needed to write about him to make myself feel better about the situation. I'll try and focus on Cal and Luke next chapter. Enjoy.

“I don’t know how Clifford even got on the team, for fuck’s sake.”

Ashton glances up when he hears that, realizing the voice belongs to none other than Luke Hemmings. He groans inwardly. He’s really starting to hate this kid. Just because he’s one of the best players, Luke thinks he can say whatever the fuck he wants, not caring who he hurts by it.

“He’s good,” Ashton replies gruffly. “I was at his tryout. He was _amazing_. Dunno why he’s not playing that way at practice, but he was fucking amazing at tryouts.”

“He should play goalie.” Luke scoffs, skating over to sit beside Ashton on the bench. “At least then he wouldn’t get as much playing time, and maybe then he wouldn’t fuck shit up for the team. All we have to do is keep the puck on the other team’s side.”

“Luke, I swear to god, if you don’t shut the actual hell up, I’m going to coach and asking him to have you suspended for a game. We’re a _team_. We work together. You don’t talk shit about your teammates, you _help_ them get better. Have you ever thought about _asking_ Michael what’s going on?”

“You’re one to talk,” Luke mutters. “I see the way you look at him during practice. You think he’s a lost cause too.”

“I don’t think he’s a lost cause,” Ashton says tightly. “I saw him try out. Coach and I were fuckin’ impressed, and he looked so happy. His girlfriend was there too, and it seemed like he was actually enjoying himself.”

“M’surprised he has a girl, considering how shit he is.”

“You’re a fucking dick.” Ashton glares at him, standing up. “Leave Clifford alone, otherwise I’m going to coach on you. I’m team captain, and he is part of this team. Talking shit about him behind his back won’t make him a better player.”

…

“Ey Clifford, maybe if you stopped eating so much pizza and actually practiced, you’d be able to fucking play better!”

Michael sighs, keeping his head down, as he files into the locker room. Luke Hemmings is probably the biggest asshole he’s ever had the unfortunate pleasure of knowing. The guy hasn’t let up on him since he joined the team, and while he has a reason to hate him, Michael just wishes he could be left alone. He knows he’s a shitty player, Luke doesn’t have to make him feel worse about it.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s a dick.” Michael looks up, his eyes going slightly wide when he realizes he’s face to face with the captain. 

“He’s right,” Michael mutters. “I know I’m shit. There’s just a lot going on right now, I’m sorry. I’ll do better.”

“It’s okay mate,” Ashton says. “Just try and get some practice in – I _know_ you’re good. I saw you play at your try out and you were amazing. I don’t know what’s going on, but for the team’s sake, I hope you pull your shit together soon – they deserve to know how fuckin’ good you are, Michael.”

Having the team captain tell him that he’s a good player makes Michael feel like he’s floating. He smiles, hoping his cheeks don’t look too red from how hard he’s most likely blushing. 

“Mikey? Babe, you ready to go?”

Michael pulls his gaze away from Ashton to look at his girlfriend. Sylvie’s standing in the entrance of the locker room, looking at him questioningly. 

“I’ll be a couple minutes.” He turns to Ashton. “Ashton, um, this is Sylvie, my girlfriend. Sylv, this is Ashton, he’s the team captain.” He makes the introduction awkwardly, his heart thudding in his chest. These small things cause him a lot more anxiety than they should, which is somewhat concerning.

“I saw you at his tryout, right? It’s good to meet you,” Sylvie says. 

“Likewise.” Ashton smiles at her, standing up and shaking her hand. “I gotta go shower and stuff, it was great to meet you, Sylvie. And Michael, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He claps Michael on the shoulder, before grabbing his bag and disappearing into the shower area.

“He seems nice,” Sylvie observes, as Michael grabs his bag and slides his skates and stick into it. 

“He’s the team captain, he’s not supposed to be a dick,” Michael mutters, slamming his locker shut and hefting his bag over his shoulder. “Let’s just go, okay?”

“Babe, did something happen?” Sylvie asks gently. “Did everything go okay today?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Michael rakes a hand through his hair and sighs. “I just wanna go home. Please.”

…

“He just went into his game room and now he’s curled up with his Xbox and his headphones in! He hasn’t said a word to me since we got home!”

“Sylvie, don’t you think you’re overreacting?” Grace laughs from the other end of the phone, and Sylvie sighs.

“I might be, yeah. But he’s had a rough time these past few weeks, and I’m worried about him. He gets like this, bottles everything up, and it’s really not a good thing.”

“Talk to him, then,” Grace advises. “When Lou’s in one of his moods, I usually bring him a cup of tea and cuddle with him until he finally spits it out. And then we cuddle and sometimes he cries and I just let him break down, until he’s feeling better. It works every time.”

“He seems like he just wants to be left alone, though…”

“Yes, and if you leave him alone, the shitty thoughts will become worse and he’ll start feeling so much crappier. Go talk to him. It’ll be okay. Call me when you’re done. Love you, bye!” Grace hangs up before Sylvie’s even able to answer her, and she sighs, grumbling to herself. 

“Mikey?” 

Sylvie makes her way into her boyfriend’s gaming room, curling up next to him. He glances at her sadly, sighing as he pauses his game and takes the headphones out. Moving closer, he lets his head rest on her shoulder, closing his eyes.

“What’s wrong, babe? You’re scaring me…”

“S’stupid,” Michael mutters. “Just something someone said to me at practice today, it’s getting to me.”

“It’s not stupid,” Sylvie says firmly. “If it’s making you this upset, it’s serious. What did they say?”

“Hemmings…he called me fat…” Michael mumbles. “Well, not directly, but he implied it. He said I’m not a good player because all I do is eat pizza and don’t practice…”

“Then he’s a dick,” Sylvie replies. “You’re the furthest thing from fat, babe. You’re perfect.”

“I don’t feel perfect. I’m still a shit player. No one has any faith in me.”

“I have faith in you.”

“I don’t have faith in myself, Sylv.” 

“Everything is gonna be okay, Mikey. Forget about this for now,” Sylvie tells him. “Just rest. Thinking about it and talking about it are just gonna make you feel worse.” He nods, scooting down to rest his head on her lap, closing his eyes, and enjoying the feeling of her fingers in his hair.

…

Calum sighs as he looks over the failed test again. He’s never been good at math, and taking Pre-Calculus this year has been hell for him. Math is just so fucking confusing, and he hates it so much. He’s never been able to understand it – probably why everyone he knows is advanced in math, one or two years ahead of grade level, and he’s not. He’s a senior taking senior level math, and it sucks to hear people talk about their classes, knowing he’s stupider than they are and that he’ll never measure up. Math is stupid. 

He’s failing the class, and he might get kicked off the hockey team for it. Being on a sports team means you need to keep a 3.2 GPA, and his GPA is going to shit because of this fucking math class. Fucking hell, he’s screwed. And he doesn’t even like math – why is it a fucking requirement to take it? It’s so stupid.

“Cal? Hey, sorry I’m late, drama club ran a bit long.”

He stuffs the test into his bookbag and stands, opening his arms for his girlfriend. “Hi, babe. It’s alright, I had to meet with my pre-calc teacher to discuss a test, anyway. Wasn’t waiting long.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t have practice today.”

“Yeah, coach had to take his wife to the doctor’s or some shit like that,” Calum replies, wrapping his arm around Kyra’s waist. He leads her out of the school, and over to his car. “It’s kinda nice, a day to rest.”

He throws his bookbag into the backseat, and gets into the driver’s seat. Kyra slides in beside him, grabbing his hand, as he starts the car and pulls out of the school parking lot. 

“You okay, babe? You’re quieter than usual…”

“Sorry,” Calum replies softly, squeezing her hand. “I’m failing math, Ky…the test I just got back? I failed. My teacher wanted to talk to me because if I don’t pull my grade up, I might get kicked off the hockey team…”

“Oh, Cal…” Kyra sighs, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “How bad is it?”

“This test is gonna bring my GPA down to a 3.1. You need a 3.2 to be on any sports team. I have two weeks to bring it back up again – there’s a test next week, and if I don’t do well on that, I’m off the team…”

“You’ll fucking ace that test,” Kyra says firmly. “I’ll make sure of it. Hockey is something you love, and pre-calc is not gonna take that away from you. Not if I can help it.”

…

“I fucking hate Ashton Irwin.”

“What’s the problem this time?” Ally winds her arms tighter around his waist to keep him from slipping, kissing his hair.

“He’s just a dick,” Luke mutters darkly. “I fucking hate most of the world. You’re one of the only people that I can actually tolerate right now.”

“Should I be happy about that?”

“You should, actually.”

“Luke…” Ally sighs. “What’s going on with you? You’ve changed so much…I love you, but Kendall told me what you said to Michael today. His girlfriend, Kendall, and I are friends…”

“Fucking hell.”

Luke groans and makes a move to get up, but Ally tightens her arms around him. “No, babe, you’re gonna talk to me. I want to help you, but I can’t do that if I don’t know what’s wrong. Please, tell me what’s bothering you.”

“It’s nothing, it’s fine,” Luke mutters. “I’m okay. I just wanna sleep. I have to go deal with Michael tomorrow. Ashton’s making me talk to him and try and figure out why he’s so shit at hockey.”

“He’s not shit, babe,” Ally replies. “Sylvie told me that he just gets nervous around a lot of people. He’s a good player, he’s fast and he can slip in and out, to get the puck to whomever is in a shooting position.”

“That’s my job…” Luke whispers. “That’s what I do best… Fucking hell, there’s no way he’s going to swoop in and steal that from me. I’ll destroy him first.”

“Lucas.”

“Sorry.” Luke doesn’t sound sorry at all. “But if he is really as good as everyone says he is, and my dad sees that, he’ll kill me. And Clifford caused us to lose the last game, and my dad was fucking pissed. He can play as shit as he wants, but I’m the one who gets reprimanded for not “taking leadership” or “helping him get better”. It’s not fucking fair.”

“Oh, baby…” This is why Luke’s been acting like such a dick. Or at least part of the reason. She didn’t realize that the shit with his dad was this bad. Ally leans down and kisses his head again, shifting him in her arms.

“How about I order pizza, and we can watch Netflix until we both fall asleep?”

“Sounds nice, Al,” Luke murmurs, tilting his head to meet her lips in a kiss. “M’sorry for the way I’ve been acting lately…I know I’ve been shit.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for mentions of depression...I know it's slow right now, and I say this a lot, but next chapter is where things will pick up.

Ashton is dizzy. 

When he gets up from his seat in Calculus as the bell rings, it feels as if the blood has rushed to his head and he’s about to do a faceplant on the tile floor. Blinking rapidly, he manages to make his way out of the classroom to meet Kendall.

“Ash, whoa, you okay?” Kendall grabs his wrist as soon as she reaches him.

His head is spinning, and the dizzy feeling is still lingering. “M’so dizzy, Ken…”

“Shit, okay, come on.” She helps him outside, into the courtyard, and sits him down on a bench, before seating herself next to him. “There you go, just close your eyes for a second.”

After a few minutes, the dizzy feeling passes completely, and he’s left with exhaustion draping over him stickily, making him lean most of his weight on his girlfriend. She supports him the best she can, brushing hair out of his face and looking at him with a worried look on her face.

“You okay now?”

Ashton nods groggily. “Sorry. Didn’t realize I was that out of it…”

“Ash, you looked like you were gonna pass out,” Kendall says softly. “What’s going on, babe? Talk to me.”

“Later, we have class…”

“Fuck that,” Kendall replies. “Your health is more important than why the Korean war was fought. What’s going on?”

Ashton sighs. “I just…I haven’t been sleeping well. It’s nothing, Ken, seriously. I’m sorry I scared you, but I’m really okay.”

“You’re really not, Ashton. You almost fainted two minutes ago! You need to sleep.”

Ashton rubs a hand over his face. “After school, I have hockey practice, and after that I have to run to the after school care and pick up Harry, then I can go home. But Lauren’s alone until then so I might have to make her something to eat and keep an eye on them both until my mum gets home from work. I probably won’t get to sleep until ten tonight, probably later.”

“Ash…” Kendall leans in and kisses his cheek, sighing. “That’s not good enough, babe. You’re bordering on exhaustion, and at this rate, you _will_ pass out somewhere. I’m sure your mum wouldn’t mind picking up Harry today; I can text her and ask her if she can get off early so you can come to mine and sleep.”

“Kendall, no,” Ashton mutters. “I can handle it. I can’t bail on them now, this is just part of my responsibility as the oldest. I don’t mind.”

“You may not mind, but I’m pretty sure your mum and siblings will, when you faint somewhere and end up in the hospital with an IV in your arm!” Kendall shakes her head, grabbing his hand and rubbing her fingers over his palm. “I’m just worried about you, baby. You’re exhausted and you’re overworking yourself…I want you to be okay. If you need to sleep, that’s okay. Your mum will understand – she loves you, she wants you healthy.”

Ashton sighs, resting his head against the crook of her neck and closing his eyes. “I love you. I know you’re worried, but I’ll be okay, I promise.”

“Just rest, we’ll ditch this period.” Kendall brings her right arm around to run her hand through his hair. “I love you too, you goddamn moron.”

…

“Hey, Michael?”

Michael flinches and looks up, right into the eyes of Calum Hood. The defenseman is just as tall as him, but about ten times more muscular. He looks fit, like he actually belongs on a hockey rink. He’s definitely a force to be reckoned with.

“I talked to Ashton, and he told me that you’re taking Calculus this year, that you’re a really good math student…” Calum trails off, smiling sheepishly. “I’m failing Pre-Calc, and my GPA’s too low for me to be on the team. I have two weeks to get it up to a 3.2, and a test next week. I was wondering…could you tutor me, in exchange for me helping you out with hockey?”

Michael stares at him, his gaze unmoving. Calum has to be fucking with him…why would the team’s best defenseman want math lessons from _him_? “I’m not in the mood for jokes…” His voice comes out scratchy, and he cures himself silently. Fucking hell, why can’t he be a normal person and talk properly? Calum’s probably laughing at him.

“I’m not joking, Michael,” Calum says softly. “I want to help you, in exchange for you helping me figure out what a vector is and why I’ll ever fuckin’ care about it.”

“Vectors are easy,” Michael replies, a shadow of a smile starting to peek onto his face. “You just need to memorize the formulas.”

“Easy for you to say,” Calum pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Those formulas are stupid. Pre-Calc is stupid.”

“Not once you get the hang of it.”

Calum grins at him. “So you’ll help me?”

“Yeah…” Michael replies shakily. “But if this is a joke…if you’re just doing this for shits and giggles…”

“I’m not, I promise. Swear on my life,” Calum says quickly. “I really need math help, otherwise I might be off the team. You’re my savior.”

…

When Luke gets to the rink that afternoon, he just spends a few moments staring.

Calum Hood is actually _helping_ Clifford. The two of them are already on the ice, and Calum is giving Michael tips, showing him the proper way to handle the puck if he wants to be one of the speedier ones. What the actual _fuck_?

“See, Luke?” Ashton comes up beside him, looking out at Calum and Michael. “ _That_ is how you be a team player. Help out the one who needs it. Don’t kick them when they’re already down. Calum was the one to approach Michael, so it isn’t even like Michael was begging for help. Calum’s actually doing something to help out, unlike you, who sits around whining about how “shitty” you think Michael plays.”

“Fuck off, Irwin,” Luke grumbles, pulling his helmet on. He steps onto the ice, turning back to look at the captain. “You haven’t done much about Clifford’s horrendous playing, to be talking to me about it. What, the team captain is so prestigious, he has to get the rest of the team to do his work for him? Fuck you.”

Hurt flashes across Ashton’s face, before it’s replaced with cold, hard anger. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it at the last moment and whirls around, stepping back into the locker room and quickly disappearing from sight. Luke rolls his eyes. Fucking coward. They have a fucking coward for a captain. Wonderful.

He skates around the perimeter of the rink, smirking when Clifford catches a glance of him and the expression on his face turns from determined to scared. He relishes in the power he has – he’s gonna show that red-haired asshole. Clifford will have no idea what hit him. 

“Hey, Luke!” Calum calls, pulling his helmet up. “Wanna join in? We’re working on control.”

“Nah, I’m good. I know the basics, unlike fatty over there,” Luke scoffs. 

He watches Michael shrink back, and hears Calum say something to him softly, before the defenseman skates over.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?!” Calum growls. “Why are you being such a dick to him? He’s trying his fuckin’ best, leave him the hell alone.”

“He doesn’t even know the goddamn basics, Cal,” Luke mutters. “Why is he even on this team? There’s tons of recreational ones that _teach_ people how to play.”

“He’s good,” Calum defends. “He is a motherfuckin’ monster on the ice, but you know what? He’s fuckin’ nervous around us. All of us. He’s the new guy. The rest of us have been playing since freshman year. He’s the new one, and the entire team is fuckin’ intimidating. And all you’re doing is validating his fear by kicking him when he’s already down.” Calum shakes his head. “Ash was right. You _are_ a dick.”

“At least I can fuckin’ play!”

“There is _nothing_ wrong with drills, Hemmings. There’s _nothing_ wrong with going back to the basics for a bit. If anything, it helps sharpen skills and makes you into a better player. But I’m sure you know that, because your dad makes you do drills over and over, until you want to use the blade of your skate to take off his damn head. Don’t be a fuckin’ hypocrite.”

…

“So Michael said he’d help me. I think I might actually pass, at this rate.”

Kyra frowns, kissing her boyfriend’s cheek. “I was gonna help you…”

“Yeah, baby, and it would’ve been awesome, but you have drama, and the play is next month. You have rehearsals, you need to memorize your lines, you have enough on your plate. And plus, Michael’s taking Calc. And he took honors Pre-Calc and got an A for the year. He knows his shit.”

“You have a point…I’m one of the leads this year, so there’s a lot of lines, and dress rehearsals start soon. I’m gonna be really busy.”

“Exactly, baby,” Calum murmurs, kissing her head. “You don’t need to worry about tutoring your stupid boyfriend on top of the play and school and everything.”

“You’re not stupid, Cal…” Kyra replies. “You just have issues with math. I’m not the biggest fan of it either. Everyone’s got a subject they hate. I hate French.”

“I’m so fuckin’ glad I didn’t take French,” Calum sighs, stroking her hair. “All those verbs to conjugate and shit…it’s a stupid language.”

“Shush, Cal.” She punches him lightly in the arm, and he brings her closer to his chest, hugging her tightly. He wonders sometimes, what he did right to get a girlfriend as beautiful as Kyra is. He really loves her, more than anything. 

“I love you,” Calum whispers, turning to kiss her.

“I love you too,” Kyra replies.

…

Michael opens his front door, smiling when he sees his girlfriend.

“Hey, Sylv.” He holds the door open for her, pulling her against him and hugging her tightly, as she steps inside.

“Hi,” she replies, leaning up to kiss him. “How was hockey practice?”

“Not too bad,” Michael replies. “Calum Hood, the best defenseman on our team? He asked for math help in exchange for helping me get more confidence in my game. I just hope he’s not doing it as a dare or for shits and giggles…I’m the new guy…everyone loves to make the new guy’s life hell.”

“I’m sure he wasn’t doing that, Mikey. I’ve met him, and he seems like a really sweet guy. I see his girlfriend at school a lot. She’s one of the leads in the play.”

“Let’s go upstairs.” Michael wraps an arm around her waist and leads her to his room. His house is – for lack of a better word – a mansion. His parents are filthy rich and work all hours of the day – they’re never home, and Michael’s basically grown up being cared for by nannies. He’s been pretty neglected, despite having all the materialistic things he could ever want, and it’s kinda taken a toll on him. Every inch of his house is beautiful, and he knows his parents work hard to buy him shit, but he just wishes they’d spend more time with him. He doesn’t want the newest video game consoles, he wants attention from his parents. They try to buy his love, and it really isn’t working anymore.

“You okay, Mikey?” Sylvie asks gently, as they curl onto his large mattress. 

“Tired,” Michael mutters. He’s not lying. He is tired. Not tired in the way most people would assume, though. He’s tired in a way that sleep can’t fix – tired of life. It’s exhausting, living a lie and putting up a façade for so long. Exhausting, especially since he can’t even let his own girlfriend know how he feels.

“Get some rest, alright, babe?” Sylvie murmurs. “I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”

He doesn’t have the heart to tell her how badly broken he is inside, so he stays silent, burying his face in the crook of her neck and struggling to keep his tears back. Fuck.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where the action starts. What happens to Michael isn't just a filler - it plays an important role in the Muke relationship, which is going to be the focus next chapter. Enjoy.

“We’ve been together for two years, and I’ve barely even been in here,” Kyra comments, as Calum leads her into the locker room. Today’s their first game of the season, and he really wanted to get her a good seat, which is why they’re here so early. Normally, the locker room would be busy as hell and overcrowded, meaning she’d definitely not be able to see it. 

“Be grateful I’ve kept you away. It’s disgusting, sweaty, and the guys can say the most offensive, sexist bullshit,” Calum replies, winding his arm around her waist. “You really don’t want to be around twenty guys with absolutely no filter.”

“If I were here, I’d kick their asses to Pluto and back.”

“I know you would,” Calum murmurs, turning to kiss the side of her head. “But I don’t want the entire team hating my girlfriend. The divide between my life with you and my life with the guys is perfect. They aren’t made to blur together.”

Kyra nods, glancing around the room. “So, you think you have a chance of winning this game?”

“I’m pretty sure we’ll win,” Calum replies carefully. “I don’t want to sound cocky – I’ve done it before – talked us up and the other team down, and we ended up losing. Badly. It all depends on how well we play, and how they respond to that.”

“Humble, aren’t we?” Kyra teases. “Nothing like the Cal I knew sophomore year. The one who acted like he was hot shit and the king of the world and always right.”

Calum groans. “Babe! That was two years ago, I’ve changed since then! I’m not a sexist piece of shit anymore.”

“And thank god for that,” Kyra replies. “I would’ve killed you a long time ago if you still acted the way you did when you were 15.”

“Trust me, I would kick the shit out of my fifteen year old self. I’m so glad that attitude didn’t stick.”

“You and me both.”

…

“You ready for this?” 

Ashton smiles and reaches for Kendall, pulling her in close. “I’m so fuckin’ excited. I’ve missed playing games. They hold a sense of adrenaline and excitement…something you just can’t get anywhere else. It’s like being high.”

“And you’ve gotten high, to be able to prove that?”

Ashton laughs and squeezes her tighter. “No, you pain in my ass. But it feels just how I’d imagine it feels to be high. High on life.”

“You are an idiot,” Kendall whispers, before leaning in and kissing his cheek. “But seriously, are you sure you’re good? You almost fainted a couple days ago…you don’t feel dizzy or anything right now, do you?”

Ashton sighs. He loves her so much, but he hates how much she worries about him. He hates how badly he scared her – it wasn’t something she needed to see, and he especially despises that the fear of him fainting is always there in the back of her mind now. “I’m fine, Ken. I know I gave you a scare, but I’m seriously okay. I’m excited to play, it’ll go great.”

“I worry about you…” Kendall mumbles. “You scare the shit out of me sometimes. I want you to be okay, Ash. I love you a lot.”

“I love you too,” Ashton replies. “And I know you worry, and I hate that you worry. I’m okay. I’m perfectly fine. You don’t need to worry about me fainting every time I go to do something, baby. I promise I’m okay. It was a one time thing – I just got dizzy and needed to sit down for a few minutes, but everything’s okay now.”

…

Michael is nervous.

He can see his hand shaking, almost vibrating with how hard he’s trembling. The game starts in twenty minutes, and he’s not ready.

He can’t do this. 

There’s an entire stadium full of people who are going to be watching his every move, screaming when he makes a mistake, booing when he lets the other team score…it’s too much. It’s too much for someone with anxiety, the thought of being judged by that many people is fucking terrifying. He can’t do this. 

“Michael? Hey, you ready? We gotta be out there soon.”

He looks up at Ashton, hoping the captain doesn’t catch his teary, bloodshot eyes, and evident trembling. His heart is racing and his breathing is fucked up and he has no idea what he’s gonna do.

“Shit, you okay?”

Ashton drops to his knees in front of him, and the action seems difficult because of all the padding the captain already has on. He’s looking at Michael with genuine concern in his eyes, trying to search for a reaction.

“I’m so scared,” Michael chokes out, his voice cracking. “I’m gonna fuck up like I always do but this time the crowd is gonna laugh and boo and it’s all too much. I can’t do it Ashton I can’t.”

“Hey, listen to me,” Ashton says gently. “You are not going to fuck up. I’ve seen you play, and you are amazing. Don’t let the people in the crowd take that away from you. They can boo and hiss all they want when someone makes a mistake, but we both know that if any one of them was to take our place, they’d fuck up before they even got the puck. Forget anyone’s watching you. Just play the way you played when you tried out. If you play that way today, you’ll be perfect. You are gonna do fine, Michael. I believe in you.”

Ashton looks at him so calmly and genuinely – like he truly believes in Michael, and that’s so foreign to the red-haired boy. No one’s ever believed in him like this before. The shock makes him nod his head, affirming what Ashton is saying. He can do this. He’ll do his best, and that’s all that matters. He’s gonna get out there and kick some ass, because he’s not trying to please anyone except for himself.

And he’d be over the damn moon if he got through the entire game without having a panic attack.

…

When he's passed the puck, Michael almost has to blink to make sure he's still in reality. The team has seen him play - they know how awful he is. Why would anyone make a stupid decision and let him control the game, especially at a crucial point like this?

He traps the puck hastily, snapping his head up. Ashton is looking at him in the most reassuring way possible, considering the helmet in his way. The captain gives him a slight nod, as to comfort him, and Michael's off.

He skates easily down the ice, dribbling the puck and ignoring the thunder of skates of the enemy team behind him. His teammates and the puck are all he needs to be focusing on right now. He’s ignoring the screams of the crowd, the sound of the movements of blades on the ice. Everything is being blocked out right now – all replaced by a sense of adrenaline and a determined need to score a goal or make an assist. He can do this. 

The next moments are the most tense. He finds himself trapped in a corner, opponents surrounding him, trying to get at the puck. He's too far away from the goal to shoot, and the only opening to pass has no players from his team there, ready to catch the puck. It’s just him, and the players surrounding him are much larger in body build and in height. Being tackled is inevitable if he doesn’t decide what his next move is gonna be in the next two seconds.

He doesn't know what to do. 

A flash of a red uniform catches his eye, and his head snaps over to the player. Hemmings.   
The taller lad is the only one in an open position, the only one who’s able to catch the puck and get Michael out of his predicament. Warmth explodes in his chest. He can do this. He’s going to do it.

But then Luke moves.

He skates out of the way and over to the other side of the ice. 

Michael’s heart stops.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Ashton start forward, trying to make an attempt to get him out of the corner, but his attempt is futile. He’s too late.

The next moments happen so fast. 

In one motion, he’s tackled and the puck is stolen from right under him, but that’s not what concerns him at the moment. He’s slammed into the boards – the padding he’s wearing does nothing to protect him, and pain explodes in his abdomen. 

When he falls, he hears something snap, and he knows right away that he’s torn something. Even if he didn’t, he’d know something wasn’t right because of how much his left knee hurts. 

“Time out! Fucking call it, he’s hurt!”

A whistle blows, and then there’s voices and screaming and Michael can’t focus on any of it. All he can think about is how much it hurts. There’s pain everywhere, he can’t distinguish where it hurts the most. His pain receptors are going haywire and his head is spinning.

“Michael! Michael, can you hear me? What hurts?”

Ashton is talking to him, and he manages to focus his glassy, tear-filled eyes on the muscular dirty blond. Ashton’s pulled off his helmet and is kneeling in front of him, his eyes wide as he looks Michael over.

There’s more voices and more teammates are gathering around them. Luke is nowhere to be seen, although that doesn’t surprise him at all.

“Mikey please, what hurts?” Calum is on his other side, just as desperate and scared as Ashton. Michael doesn’t understand.

“Ribs. Knee.” His voice is so shot even though it worked fine five minutes ago. He can’t focus on anything except how much pain he’s in. People are moving around him and there’s a lot of screaming and talking and he swears he sees a stretcher being wheeled toward them, but he can’t really tell. 

Everything fades the next second. 

…

The pain is still there when he opens his eyes next. It almost makes him want to close them again, squeeze them shut and fade and never come back.

But he doesn’t. He keeps his eyes open enough for there to be a quiet squeal, and a grip on his hand that tightens. 

“Hi, baby.” Sylvie leans down to brush his fringe out of his eyes. “Do you remember what happened?”

“Where- where am I?” Michael croaks, disoriented and groggy and confused.

“You’re in the hospital. You were checked into the boards and you fell pretty hard, babe.” She looks stressed and upset and worried but her tone is comforting, and Michael is really enjoying the feeling of her hand in his hair. 

“Oh.” Michael remembers it perfectly – he didn’t hit his head, although he wishes he had, because this is something he desperately wants to forget.

“You have two bruised ribs and you tore your left MCL,” Sylvie says gently, combing her hands through the red strands of hair. Her light touch is soothing – it makes him sleepy, almost. “Luckily, the ligament will heal on its own – you don’t need surgery. Just rest.”

“Hurts.” And it does. It fucking kills. Breathing makes his chest hurt, despite the IV in his arm which is probably pumping him full of drugs. 

Sylvie’s expression softens slightly. “I know. They’re giving you all the pain meds you’re allowed to have right now, babe. You’ve been on Vicodin for almost an hour now – they can’t give you too much because it’s a narcotic and it’s addicting.” She leans down and kisses his forehead. “Try and sleep. You’re gonna be okay.”

“Stay?” Michael looks at her with sad, puppy dog eyes, reaching up for her.

“Of course I’ll stay, Mikey,” Sylvie murmurs, taking his hand in both of hers. She rubs her thumb against the back of his hand soothingly, before lifting it up to her mouth and kissing his palm. “Get some rest. Everything’s alright now. You’re gonna be okay.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, there'll be more Muke, I promise. This had to happen for Michael and Luke to start getting closer, and I'm pretty sure you'll see why. Enjoy.

Meanwhile, Luke’s getting chewed out. Completely.

“What the actual motherfucking hell is _wrong_ with you?!” Ashton curses loudly, glaring at him. “You were fucking _open_! He was about to pass to you! And then you fucking move out of the way and let him get tackled?! He’s in the hospital! He was tackled and checked into the boards, _hard_ , all because you were too damn proud to take a pass from him. He got completely wiped out by those guys, and it’s _your_ fault!”

“I didn’t think he’d be able to pass to me through that,” Luke says in weak defense. He knows he fucked up. There’s no use trying to defend himself. 

“That’s no fucking excuse!” Ashton rages. “Do you even realize how much _pain_ Michael’s gonna be in for the next few weeks?! It’s all your fault!”

Luke almost cries in relief as Coach walks into the room, interrupting Ashton’s yelling. However, the man looks almost _angrier_ than the captain. Luke knows he fucked up – he knows he wasn’t gonna get let off easy, but he didn’t except something like this. He didn’t think they’d get so upset, but more importantly, he didn’t think for a second that Michael would end up _hurt_ and in the _hospital_ , because of his refusal to take a pass from the red haired lad. 

“How is he, coach?” Ashton asks, all the anger evaporating and changing into worry.

Coach sighs. “Torn MCL in his left knee and two bruised ribs. But they think he could’ve cracked a rib, because of how much pain he’s in. He’s getting another set of x-rays done as we speak.”

“Oh god…” Ashton whispers. “I gotta get down there…”

“No, you don’t. Calum, Alex, and Jack are all down there,” Coach informs them. “I just got off the phone with Cal, as a matter of fact. Michael’s parents haven’t even been reached yet. The boys keep trying, but both their lines are busy and their voicemail inboxes are full.”

“Fucking hell…” Ashton mutters. 

“As for you, Luke,” Coach continues, turning to him. “I don’t have the patience to ask what the _hell_ was running through your mind when you pulled a stunt like that, but it is _not_ going to go unpunished. You’re suspended for two games – maybe the time on the bench will allow you to think about being a team player.”

Luke is stunned. “Coach, that’s not fair! If I wasn’t open, the same thing would’ve happened!”

“But you _were_ open,” Coach replies. “You were the _only_ one open, and you decided you weren’t going to take a pass from the new guy. Whatever pride you’re clinging onto, it better be let go of. If you _ever_ pull something like this again, you’ll be more than suspended for two games.”

“Why haven’t you yelled at Michael?” Luke mumbles. “You let him try out after the season already started, and he’s been _shit_ so far.”

“Michael has submitted a medical note, given to him by a psychologist, that tells me he has a few issues when it comes to performing as well as he did in his try out, amongst the whole team. We’re working on it. Calum is helping him through. It’ll take him time to feel comfortable around you guys, and things like _this_ aren’t making it any better.”

“Coach, tell him about the other things we agreed on,” Ashton pipes up, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at Luke. 

Coach glances back at Ashton and nods. “Right, I forgot. Thank you for reminding me, Ashton. Luke, Ashton and I have talked, and we’ve also agreed that as part of your punishment, you have to go over to Michael’s house and apologize to him personally. And when he comes back to school – which will be in about a week – you’re responsible for carrying his backpack and books to the classes you have together, which are gym, Calculus, and Physics, if I’m not mistaken.”

…

“So the final verdict is no broken ribs, just bad bruising,” Calum announces, as he walks into Michael’s hospital. “And you’ve been discharged. Your parents faxed over their signatures – they’re on their way, but it’ll be a while before they get here.”

“Wonderful,” Michael mutters. “Are Alex and Jack with you?”

“Nah, Alex is bringing the car around, and Jack went to raid the cafeteria. It’s my job to help you get ready to leave.”

Michael sighs heavily. The process to get in the wheelchair to go down and take the new x-rays was a pain in itself. And now he has to do it again. 

Sylvie presses her lips to the side of his head, and he leans into her touch, closing his eyes and appreciating the love she’s giving him. She’s been so patient through all of this – he’s so lucky to have her by his side. 

Calum hands him his crutches, and Michael swings himself out of bed and onto them, wobbling a bit, before regaining his footing. When he sees Calum bring a wheelchair toward them, however, his heart skips a beat. 

“The fuck’s that for?”

“You.” Calum shoots him an apologetic glance. “Hospital policy – all patients have to leave the hospital in a wheelchair.”

“Fuckin’ hell, they’re really tryna make me look like an invalid,” Michael grumbles. 

“It’s just precaution, babe. They don’t want you to get hurt before you leave the hospital,” Sylvie says from behind him, watching as he crutches over to the wheelchair, handing his crutches to Calum, before sitting down gingerly, stretching his left leg out.

“Fuck, that hurts.”

“We have your pain med prescription,” Calum tells him. “After we get to your house, I’ll send Jack and Alex to get it.”

Michael nods gratefully, sighing and closing his eyes, as he’s wheeled out of the room. 

…

“Are you _sure_ you don’t need me to stay? ‘Cause I don’t mind.”

Michael shakes his head, shifting a bit on his bed. He’s propped up with three pillows, and there’s another under his knee. There’s icepacks everywhere – one on his knee, and two under his shirt, on his aching ribs. The ice is the only thing keeping him calm and helping him through the pain. It fucking hurts. “Go home, Cal. You’ve been amazing, but I’m probably gonna cuddle with Sylv for a while and then fall asleep. There’s nothing for you to do here.”

“You might need help…”

“I’ll be okay, Cal,” Michael says gently. “Thank you, for everything, but I’ll be okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“No.” Calum glares at him. “You’re fuckin’ crazy if you think you’re going to school tomorrow. The doctor said at least a week at home, in bed, _resting_.”

Michael sighs, deflated. He can tell that Calum realizes this. “I’ll come over after school, alright?”

“Isn’t there practice tomorrow?”

“No, we don’t have practice the day after games,” Calum replies. “I’ll come over.” He smiles at Michael. “You were really brave out there today. The team’s proud of you. Get some rest, okay? We want you back on the ice as soon as possible. Feel better, Mikey.”

He slips out the door without giving Michael a chance to reply, and the injured boy heaves another sigh, leaning back against his pillows. 

“What he said was true, y’know,” Sylvie murmurs. “You were brave. I watched you, and you did so well out there.”

“I can’t even walk, Sylv,” Michael mutters. “And everything hurts.”

“I know.” She brushes hair from his face and kisses his head. “I know it hurts, but you’ll get better.”

“I just want to sleep.”

“Go ahead. I’ll be here. I’m not leaving you – I love you.”

“I love you too.”

…

Luke stares in wonder at Michael’s house. 

It’s huge.

This kid must be motherfuckin’ _loaded_. 

This house looks more like a mansion than anything. 

He goes up the front walk and rings the doorbell, still not really into this. He’s still pissed that coach is making him personally apologize to Michael. Why couldn’t he have just written a card and gotten it over with? He actually has to face Michael now, and he doesn’t know if he can.

It’s not that he’s scared – he knows he fucked up, and now he has to pay the price, but seeing Michael in pain, because of _him_ …that’s going to make the guilt worse than ever. He’s never felt more guilty about something in his life.

The door swings open, and a girl is standing there – he thinks she looks familiar, but he can’t think of who she actually is.

“Yes?”

“I’m looking for Michael Clifford,” Luke says, his tone bored. He’s guilty as hell inside, but on the outside, it’s easy to make it look like he doesn’t care.

Her face hardens in realization. “You’re the guy who refused to take a pass from him, aren’t you? The reason this happened to him?”

“Yeah…about that, I’m here to apologize…please, if you could let me see him…”

The girl contemplates it for a second, and then nods, holding the storm door open for him. Luke steps inside, immediately amazed by the lavish decorations and beautiful furniture. He was right. Michael’s fuckin’ _rich_.

“Follow me,” she says, leading him through the house, until they reach a staircase. He follows her up the stairs, and toward what is obviously Michael’s bedroom. The door is covered in band logos, and when she opens it, he sees a collage of posters from those bands covering the walls. Michael is definitely music obsessed.

“Baby, he’s here to apologize,” the girl’s voice startles Luke out of his observing, and he finally gets a look at Michael.

The red-haired lad looks awful, to put it bluntly. He’s pale and tired looking, his hair flat and lifeless. He’s wearing an old Blink-182 shirt and some basketball shorts, putting his injured knee on full display. There’s a brace and ice on it, and it’s elevated, but Luke can still see the swelling. There’s also icepacks under his shirt – Luke can see the edges of them. Holy shit.

Michael looks at him expectantly, holding out an arm from the girl – who’s most likely his girlfriend. She gets onto the bed and curls up next to him, kissing his cheek.

“Well? You just gonna stand there and stare?”

Luke shakes his head to clear it, before finally addressing the injured boy. “I- I’m sorry, I guess. I never meant for this to happen.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “That’s more fake than Iggy Azalea's fucking ass. You’re just here because coach put you up to it, aren’t you? Jesus, you put me in a hospital, the least you could do is say sorry and fuckin’ _mean_ it.”

The bitterness in his voice shocks Luke. He’s never seen that side of Michael. He’s not used to the other lad sticking up for himself. “I really am sorry,” he says softly. “I know I don’t look or sound it, but trust me, I am.”

“Yeah, that’s real rich when you’re not the one who’s in agony when all you do is _breathe_. You can say sorry all you damn want, but it’s not gonna take away the pain for the next month, so honestly, go fuck yourself. I’d be overjoyed if I never had to see your face again.”

“Michael, I- I know I fucked up. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt…I don’t know what I can say or do to make you believe it, but I’m so sorry.”

“Whatever,” Michael grumbles. “You’ve said your sorry, you’ve cleared your conscience, everything’s all fine and motherfuckin’ dandy for you. _I’m_ the one who has to deal with the pain for the next month. _I’m_ the one who has to go through physical therapy and be on crutches and need help with everything. And I’m _also_ the one who’s lost my escape and my way to keep sane. You got what you wanted after all – I’m out for over a month, so I’m not there to fuck up your team anymore. Congratulations, Luke. You got what you wanted in the end. Now get the fuck out of my room.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, you'll find out where the last scene is going. Enjoy.

“He’s suspended for two games. And…”

Michael raises an eyebrow at the captain. “And?”

Ashton sighs. “Coach and I discussed it, and we decided that he’s going to be the one who helps you carry your shit everywhere, when you come back tomorrow.”

“What the hell, Ashton?!” Michael glares at him. “I don’t wanna fuckin’ talk to him. He probably meant for this to happen! Why the hell would you sign me up for something like that?”

“Listen, Mikey,” Ashton replies, pushing him back against his pillows. “Don’t get worked up – it’s not good for your injuries. You and Luke have some issues that you guys _need_ to solve, for this team to be able to win any games. You both are great players, but if you’re not willing to work together, that fact is completely negated. This is for the team.”

“ _I’m_ willing to work with him,” Michael grumbles. “I tried to pass to him and it ended in me being tackled. _Why_ would I want to continue associating with the bastard?”

“I know how you feel, trust me,” Ashton says sympathetically. “Luke can be a real dick. But he has a father that doesn’t know control. Luke’s dad is always on him about his playing – he points out every tiny ass mistake Luke makes, and he’s fuckin’ furious about this. That doesn’t justify what Luke did by _any_ means, but he didn’t just do it because he hates you.”

“I don’t get _why_ , though.” Michael adjusts one of the icepacks on his ribcage, grimacing. “Why does he hate me? What the hell did I do to him?”

“You’re new,” Ashton tells him. “That’s it. Luke doesn’t like change. And to boot, you didn’t play as well as you did in your try out, at the first practice you came to, which plummeted his opinion of you. Luke doesn’t do well with change. And he’s got some anger issues – this isn’t the first time he’s fucked up at a game.”

“I bet it hasn’t ended in someone in the hospital with a torn knee and bruised ribs.”

“You’re right about that. And I know that this isn’t gonna be easy for either of you, but this is for the best of the team. So please, work with us? If you’re working with us and doing your best and Luke isn’t, you’ll be praised and he’ll be punished. Just hang in there, Mikey.”

…

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Michael mutters, grabbing his backpack from his girlfriend. “Go to class, babe. Luke’s supposed to meet me here in two minutes.”

“I still don’t like that he’ll be the one helping you,” Sylvie mutters. “He’s an ass.”

“Trust me, I don’t like it anymore than you do. But I don’t have a choice. Now go. You’re gonna be late, and unlike me, you don’t have a free pass to be.”

She sighs and nods, leaning in to kiss him quickly, before rushing down the hall. The bell’s about to ring, and her next class is still a ways away.

“Hey.”

Michael glances behind him, groaning inwardly at the sight of the tall blond. Luke doesn’t look any happier than Michael is about this. At least that means they probably won’t talk. Michael has many words for the blond, and none of them are good ones. 

Wordlessly, Michael hands Luke his backpack, before shifting on his crutches and beginning to hobble in the direction of their Calculus class.

“I’m sorry, okay? I know I said it last weekend, but I’m still sorry. I didn’t mean for this.”

“Fuck off, Luke,” Michael mutters. “I don’t wanna deal with your bitching right now. You can say sorry all you damn want. It doesn’t change a thing.”

“Why won’t you at least hear me out?” Luke asks in exasperation. “I have my reasons for doing what I did!”

“Yeah, alright, tell me why you thought you’d get out of my way and wouldn’t let me pass to you. Because you don’t like me. There’s a fucking brace on my knee and it hurts to breathe because you don’t _like me_. That’s pathetic, Luke. And nothing you can say is gonna make it any better, so don’t bother trying.”

Luke huffs and comes up beside him, falling into place beside Michael. “It’s not just because I don’t like you.”

“Oh? Why else would you pull this bullshit?”

“My dad doesn’t like you either.”

“That’s wonderful, great, it’s not like you were asked to fuckin’ kiss me. The only job you had was to receive the pass. Your father doesn’t have to like everyone on the damn team, but I bet if it was Ashton who was trying to pass to you, you would’ve done every damn thing possible to get open. So the problem you have is with me.”

“Michael, please…”

“Please, _what_?!” Michael cries, stopping and turning to face the other lad. “What do you _want_ from me?”

“I want you to hear me out. I’m not that horrendous of a person…”

“Oh, really? Because from what I’ve seen, all you’ve done is get into fights with Ashton and Calum, call me a fatass, and then do _this_ to me. So yeah, you are horrendous person, and I don’t have any ounce of remorse for you. Take your damn pity party somewhere else, because I’m _not_ interested.”

…

“He fuckin’ hates me, Al.”

“No shit.”

Luke looks at his girlfriend in surprise. “What?”

Ally sighs. “Luke, you gotta be kidding me if you think he’s gonna just take the shit you’re giving him. You put him in the hospital. If he’d been able to pass to you, he wouldn’t have been tackled, and none of this would’ve ever happened. The guy’s on crutches and has badly bruised ribs, because you were too damn stubborn to take a pass from him.”

“First I had to hear this from Ashton, then coach, then Michael, and now you? Is anyone willing to listen to _my_ side of the story?”

“Not really,” Ally replies. “I’m sorry, you know I love you, but I don’t really have sympathy for you, in this case. I’ve talked to Sylvie, and she said that Michael’s in a lot of pain, and he can barely fall asleep some nights, because of how much his ribs hurt. His parents work, like, 24/7, and he’s usually alone. She stays with him every night she can, but her parents aren’t really happy about her spending every night with her boyfriend. So most of the time, he’s alone, in pain, left to wonder why you fuckin’ hate him so much.”

“I don’t hate him, my dad just…doesn’t like him at all…”

“It’s not like you have to become best friends with the guy, you just need to treat him like you would any other player on the team. You don’t like Ashton either, but you pass to him.”

“He’s the captain!”

“And that makes him any different from Michael, how? All of you are on the same team, positions don’t matter.”

Luke sighs, the tears burning in his eyes making it hard to see. “I’m sorry for what I did. I just wish everyone could see that.” His voice cracks and he brings his knees up to his chest and hides his face, trying not to let his girlfriend see him cry.

“Hey, baby…” Ally murmurs, rubbing his back gently. “I didn’t mean to upset you this much…I know you’re sorry…”

“I just wish people would realize that too…” Luke mumbles. “I know I fucked up, but they won’t let me fix it. I can’t win, either way.”

“You’re helping Michael out for the next few weeks, aren’t you?” Luke nods. “So try and talk to him. Try and understand him for who he is. That’ll make you like him more. You guys could become great friends, you never know.”

“He hates me, Ally. He hates my guts.”

“He won’t hold a grudge forever. You just have to give it some time, Lukey. It’ll all be okay, alright?”

“I hope you’re right.”

…

“Hockey is not supposed to be stressful. It’s supposed to be the one thing in my life that _isn’t_ a cause of stress…”

Kendall sighs, nuzzling her head further into her boyfriend’s neck. “I know, babe. But it’s not your fault that Luke and Michael are having problems. You can’t control everything.”

“I’m the captain, Ken. I’m expected to keep them in line.”

“No, your _coach_ is supposed to do that. Your job is to argue with the officials about the rules on the ice, and you did that. The guys who tackled Michael are suspended for a long time. You’ve done your job, babe. It’s not your fault that Michael and Luke are having issues.”

“I feel some kind of responsibility, as captain. I need to help them.”

“No, you don’t.” Kendall lifts her head and presses a kiss to his cheek. “I know you want to help everyone, Ash. It’s one of the things I love most about you. But Luke and Michael need to solve this on their _own_. If outside forces try and get them to figure it out, they won’t do it as well as they would by themselves.”

“I guess, I just…”

“You can’t control everything, baby. You’ll stretch yourself way too thin, by doing that. You need to let them work this out. They’re not kids anymore – all of you are going to college next year. It’s time they realized that no one else is gonna fight their battles for them anymore.”

“I love you,” Ashton murmurs. “You always know how to calm me down.”

“I love you too,” Kendall replies. “And it’s a good thing I do, because you’d have probably passed out long before, if I didn’t. You need to take a break once in a while, baby. No one’s gonna resent you for it. We all just want you to be okay.”

“I am okay, Ken. It’s just senior year. It’s stressful.”

…

“So he’s doing okay?”

“Yeah, he’s good,” Calum replies, pulling Kyra into his arms and closing the door behind him. “I just got back from his house. He’s still in pain, but we were playing FIFA to get his mind off of it.”

“That’s good,” Kyra replies. “Sucks that he got hurt, though.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what Hemmings was thinking, but I’d love to kick his ass.”

“But will that change anything?” Kyra raises an eyebrow at him. “Michael’s still gonna be injured. It happened, it’s over, there’s no use dwelling on it. You guys need to move on. It’s the only way Michael will get better.”

“I guess you’re right…” Calum mumbles. “You’re always right.”

“I know.” She grins at him, and he rolls his eyes, as she leads him upstairs and into her bedroom.

When they lay down, he winces as the bruised part of his back makes contact with the comforter.

“Cal?” Kyra looks at him worriedly. “You okay?”

“Yeah, m’good,” Calum replies softly, closing his eyes. “Just hockey bruises.”

“You didn’t have practice today…” Her tone is suspicious, as she tries to grab his shirt and lift it up. His hand stops her, and he opens his eyes, sitting up. 

“Don’t,” he says gravelly, grabbing her wrist. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay! I’ve been listening to you try and convince me that it is for a while now, but it’s _not_! You keep getting hurt and it’s scaring me…what’s going on, Cal?”

A look of pain flashes across his face, before he shakes his head. “It’s nothing, I promise. I’m okay. Please, can we just drop it?”

“No. I want an answer, Cal. An answer I can actually _believe_.”

“It’s nothing!” Calum exclaims. “I’m fine.” His voice cracks on the last word, disproving his statement.

“Cal…” Kyra scoots in beside him and wraps her arms around his torso. “You’re not fine, baby. But I won’t push you now, it’s okay. Just relax, babe.”

He takes a few deep breaths, leaning on her tiredly. “M’sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” She leans down and kisses his hair. “It’s okay.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for abuse, depression, and anxiety. Enjoy.

“Please dad, stop! Kyra’s getting suspicious, the bruises are getting harder to hide, please!”

The hand freezes above him, and Calum barely has time to breathe a sigh of relief, before the tang of his father’s rotten breath hits him. He blinks, looking straight into the older man’s face.

“What have you told her?! Worthless little rat.” His growl is menacing – it’s not the first time he’s used that tone, but every use of it makes Calum’s skin crawl. He’s started to get extremely anxious every time his father gets to the point where he starts screaming. Screaming and yelling are two things that he should be used to, but Calum is still terrified when he’s the victim of either. 

“I didn’t s-say anything,” Calum chokes out shakily. He’s trembling, his stomach twisting in uncomfortable circles, head spinning. This is terrifying. Trying to defend yourself against a man who is much bigger than you in every aspect. “H-Hockey injures, as always. I haven’t ratted you out, p-promise.” 

John smirks. “Then I guess we’ll have to focus on areas that can easily be covered.” He barely finishes his sentence, before a boot is slamming into Calum’s stomach.

Calum doesn’t cry out in pain – he’s learned that showing his agony makes things worse. His father doesn’t like weakness – crying is a sign of weakness. At this point, he’s just doing anything he can to make it out of this without needing a hospital.

“Worthless little scumbag.”

Another blow to his abdomen, and he’s left blinking back tears. Mikey has broken ribs, and he took it better than this. “Fucking hell, how fucking weak are you?”

John’s angry words send another shiver down his spine, just as he’s brought forward by the collar of his shirt, and then slammed against the wall. His vision blurs, and he’s dizzy as fuck. He can barely hold himself up, and he can’t control his body flopping onto its side the next moment. 

He doesn’t remember the rest.

…

“A-Ash…”

Ashton glances to his left, taking one look at the sight that greets him, before halting in his tracks and racing to the door. “Cal, what the fuck happened?!”

Calum is limping, holding an arm against his ribs, his backpack weighing him down immensely. He’s leaning heavily on the bathroom door, trying to support himself and failing.

“Help me,” Calum mumbles. His eyes are closing – he looks fucking exhausted, and goddamn, Ashton doesn’t know how he’s still able to stand. The guy looks like he’s about to collapse and actually fuckin’ die. He doesn’t know exactly how bad the injuries are, but jesus, Calum looks _awful_. 

Ashton grabs the backpack and shoves his way into the bathroom, just as Calum leans against the wall, exhausted. He glances the other boy over quickly, evaluating his injuries. “I’m gonna go get the nurse. And coach.”

“No!” A strong hand grasps his wrist, and Ashton turns to the injured lad.

“No? What the fuck do you mean, no? You’re hurt. You need to be taken care of. I’m no professional.”

“I’m fine,” Calum insists. “I just need…I need your help. Kyra’s already suspicious, and if she sees this, she’ll know they’re not hockey injuries. She can’t find out, Ash. You need to help me hide this.”

“Who fuckin’ did this to you?” Ashton fumes. “I’ll beat them fuckin’ black and blue.”

“That’s not important, it’s over. Just please, help me.”

“What the hell do you want me to do?”

“It’s just my ribs,” Calum replies. “They’re not broken. Probably just bruised. It doesn’t hurt that bad, but I just need you to wrap them up for me.”

“Cal, wrapping rib injures can cause collapsed lungs and shit, you know that. I’m not gonna do this.” Ashton isn’t even worried about his captain position or his reputation at this point – he just doesn’t want something horrible to happen, and Calum to end up in a hospital, because he made a bad judgment call. 

“Please, Ash,” Calum begs. Ashton stares at him. His mind is racing and he can barely think, but he knows that something is seriously wrong. Calum is not the begging type, nor does he keep shit from his girlfriend. His anxiety levels keep elevating, the concern for his friend consuming him. What the fuck is going on?

Ashton sighs. “I’ll do it on one condition.”

Calum raises an eyebrow. “Fine. What do you want?”

“Tell me what happened, no lying. Brutal honesty, mate. This is serious.”

…

“So you’re telling me you got _mugged_?”

Calum nods, hoping Ashton will believe his carefully constructed lie. He’s got a few of these saved for when people start to ask questions. It was one of the first things his father beat into him.

“Then we need to call the police and report it. Did they take anything from you?”

Calum freezes for a second, his resolve starting to crack. Ashton isn’t stupid. He should’ve took that into consideration before lying to the captain. Now he has to formulate some bullshit story that Ashton may or may not even believe.

“I already called.” The lie is messy – he has no clue if Ashton believes him. It’s so hard to keep a poker face on when you’re pulling things out of your ass – this is why he plans this shit out. He knows exactly what to say when asked where his bruises are from – effectively saving himself from adding to the collection.

Ashton’s face softens. He slips his phone back into his pocket and comes to sit next to Calum, leaning his back against the wall behind them. “Cal, listen, you know I want the best for you, right? I know I’m annoying with all of this, but you’re one of my best friends and you just showed up out of nowhere, barely able to stand…sue me for being worried. I want to make sure you’re okay, and that the asshole who did this to you pays for it.”

…

“So, you like Blink?”

“Luke, why are you trying to talk to me?” Michael groans in frustration, lifting his head up from his Physics textbook.” Their teacher is out today, and the sub was left with a book assignment to give them, due the next day. Michael is trying to get it done, so he can just go home and curl up with his Xbox and his leg up, but it isn’t proving to be easy, because Luke won’t stop flapping his jaw.

“I want to try and get to know you,” Luke replies, not looking up from the floor.

Michael rolls his eyes. “Why? You wanna fuckin’ have play dates and talk about our feelings, in hope that it’ll make me forgive you? Newsflash, you’re a fucking dick and I don’t owe you anything.”

“Michael, please…” Luke’s voice _cracks_ , and Michael swears he sees tears forming in the other boy’s eyes. Luke must know he knows, because he swipes angrily at his eyes and swallows hard.

“Why do you want to get to know me?” He softens his tone slightly, still wary.

“If we become friends, maybe…maybe this season won’t be so bad.”

“I’m out for four weeks, why does it matter to you?” Michael grumbles bitterly. “You still have four weeks to hate my guts and call me a fatass and incompetent behind my back. I thought you’d be over the fuckin’ moon by now.”

“Maybe I want to not have the entire team and my girlfriend hate me.”

“Yeah, well who’s fault is that?” Michael scoffs. “I’m not the one who caused a teammate to land in the hospital.”

“I said I was sorry!”

“Your sorry is bullshit – the only reason you even said it was because coach made you. You would’ve never even come to my house and personally delivered that half-assed apology, if you weren’t forced.”

“I really am sorry, Michael.”

“Tell that to my torn MCL.”

…

Michael limps into the house, dropping his bookbag on the floor, crutching to the kitchen. What surprises him, is seeing his mum standing at the stove, an apron tucked around her waist. She’s never home this early. It’s 2:45 – she normally gets off work around 8 or 9. This is unheard of, and honestly, shocking as fuck. 

The clicking of his crutches must’ve alerted her to his presence, because she whirls around immediately. “Oh, Mikey, honey, sit down. You look exhausted.”

She leads him to a chair at the marble island in the middle of the kitchen, watching carefully as he sits, before leaning his crutches against the island. “Mum? Why are you home so early?”

“There wasn’t anything for me to do down at the office, so I thought I’d come back and be home when my baby gets here.” She gives him a soft smile. He loves his mum, he really does, but her neglect doesn’t go unnoticed, despite her trying to make up for it with sweet nicknames and nice gestures once in a blue moon. 

Michael nods shyly, ducking his head down. He doesn’t really know how to act around his mum. It’s pathetic, but he’s been raised more by nannies, than his own mum. He’s almost extremely awkward around her, which is quite sad, to be honest. Your mum is supposed to be someone you’re really close to, but this is exactly the opposite.

“How’s your knee, sweetheart? I heard you’ve been in quite a bit of pain.”

Michael sighs. “It’s okay, mum. Sucks, but I don’t really have any other choice right now. I’ll live.”

“We should sue that boy’s family for all they have. He had no right, allowing you to get tackled like that. No wonder I’ve always hated this sport. It’s much too violent – you get hurt way too often for my liking, Mikey. Baby, why do you still want to play? It’s not like this is something you’re going to be doing for the rest of your life. Why don’t you do your father and I a favor, and just quit?”

Michael glares at her. “Because this is my only vice left. Because you and dad are never fuckin’ home, and all I am anymore is lonely. Hockey is the one thing that keeps me sane, the one reason I have to not leave this damn Earth. And you can’t take that away from me. Over my dead body. It’s already destroying me – not being able to play until I heal. But after that, I am getting back on the ice. And if you don’t like it, look at all the decisions you and dad have made these past few years. I haven’t liked any of them, but neither of you have cared what I had to say. So now, I don’t give a fuck what you have to say.”

…

“Mikey, baby, it’s okay, relax.”

“She tried to get me to give up hockey! How is that okay?!”

“She doesn’t understand, babe,” Sylvie says gently, rubbing his shoulders. “Don’t get worked up – you’re going to make your ribs hurt even more.”

“She doesn’t understand me at all,” Michael mumbles bitterly. “Neither of them do. And they don’t even care. I feel like such shit, all the fuckin’ time, and they don’t care. They leave me in this huge ass house with nothing and nobody, and make me feel like no one wants me. I’m not worth anyone’s time.”

“Mikey…” Sylvie threads a hand through his hair and leans forward to kiss the side of his head. “She’s a bitch. Don’t listen to her. Just focus on your breathing, everything’s okay.”

“I don’t know how I’m gonna do it, Sylv. I need hockey…”

“I know you do, it’s okay. You’re gonna be just fine. You’ll get through it – this month’ll fly by, no problem, and then you’ll be able to play fine and move around fine and everything will be okay.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Mikey harrumphs and closes his eyes, bringing his head down to her shoulder. He yawns, her body muffling the sound. “M’so tired of this, Sylv.”

“You’re tired in general, baby. You need to sleep. Just relax.”

“This year is hell.”

“It’s our senior year,” Sylvie reminds him, stroking his hair. “After this year, you never have to set foot in that school ever again.”

“Can’t fuckin’ wait.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feelings are starting to develop...even though they don't even know it yet. Next chapter is gonna be...interesting.

It’s been a weird couple of days. 

Carrying Michael’s stuff to and from the three classes they have together has allowed Luke to spend a lot more time than he’d like with the red haired boy. Even if Michael is insistent on not talking to him, Luke feels like he’s gotten to know him better. Observing Michael isn’t hard – noticing the things that make him grin and the things that make his face twist in disgust, noticing his quirks and what makes him laugh, although he’s desperately trying to avoid laughing in front of Luke, which Luke doesn’t get at all. 

He knows he’s hurt Michael. Not just physically – his repeated jabs of how fat the injured lad is must’ve really fucking hurt. It breaks Luke’s heart to watch Michael pinch the skin on his abdomen and then grimace – both from pain and from finding truth in Luke’s words. He never meant any of it. He wishes he could take it all back – Michael doesn’t deserve any of it. 

“Luke, you coming? We’re allowed to be late, but not five minutes late.”

Luke blinks, nodding and watching Michael continue down the hallway. He hates seeing the brace around the other lad’s leg. Michael’s taken to wearing basketball shorts – probably easier than trying to put skinny jeans on – and that means Luke sees everything. He’s passed regret – this is genuine remorse and guilt. The pain Michael’s in right now should have never been felt – Luke can’t deny how much he hates himself for what he’s done.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, catching up to Michael. He looks at the older boy sadly, hating the crutches and the knee brace and Michael’s wince every time he takes a step. This is all his fault. Bruised ribs are agonizing and the pain is obvious in Michael’s eyes – they’ve been slightly glazed every since his accident.

“You’ve said that already,” Michael deadpans. “Probably hundreds of times. I get it, okay? You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“This never should’ve happened to you…”

“Yeah? Well who’s fault is that?”

Luke swallows hard and nods slightly. He’s gotten used to the snarky remarks directed at him, but that doesn’t mean they hurt any less. He just wishes none of this had every happened. It’s a mess, and he doesn’t want to deal with it anymore. “I’m just…I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I did it…I hate myself for it. You didn’t deserve it. You don’t deserve any of this.”

Michael’s face softens a bit. “Let’s go sit in the courtyard.”

“We gotta get to Calc…”

He rolls his eyes. “Ditching one day won’t kill us. Trigonometric functions will still be there tomorrow.”

…

“Do you think you can play today?”

“I’m fine, Ashton,” Calum snaps, slamming his locker shut. Being concerned is in Ashton’s nature, but the curly haired lad is smothering him, hovering and not giving him the room to breathe. He can’t deal with it. He needs some space. “You don’t have to keep watch over me like I’m some sick puppy. I’ll play and I’ll kick ass. Stop hovering.”

“You worried me,” Ashton mutters lowly. “You looked _broken_ , Cal. The bruising isn’t superficial. If you get knocked around hard today, you could end up with internal bleeding. Please, tell coach and sit out.”

“We’re playing Cherokee next week, and we’ve never beat them. I need as much time on the ice as possible,” Calum sighs, watching Ashton’s face drop. There are the puppy eyes again, fucking hell. Ashton has a puppy dog face that no one can resist. It’s why Calum hates disagreeing with him. “Listen, Ash, I know you’re worried. It’s one of the reasons you’re my best friend. You take care of me when I forget to take care of myself. But I’m fine. I promise. I’ll be fine at practice today. So _please_ , stop worrying.”

“Can I at least walk with you?” Ashton looks at him hopefully, and Calum groans inwardly. He can’t say no to the older lad. Ashton wears his heart on his sleeve and he is very in touch with his emotions. When someone hurts him, everyone knows about it. And Calum can’t bear to growl back some snarky response and watch his best friend’s cheeks pink up and his eyes get glassy with tears.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Don’t you have to meet Kendall?”

Ashton shakes his head. “Nah, she’s meeting her friends to go shopping. Knowing them, they’ll end up in Hot Topic and be there for hours.”

“Really?” Calum rolls his eyes, whirling around. “Or is this just your way of trying to check up on me discreetly?”

“I don’t lie, Cal,” Ashton replies, falling into place beside him. “I’m your best friend. I love you. You scared the shit out of me. Let me worry over you for a few days. It’s my job.”

…

“So why are we here?” 

Michael glances at Luke. “Would you rather be calculating cosine and tangent?”

“No, but…why would you wanna hang out with me? You _hate_ me.”

Michael shrugs. “I don’t hate you. At least, not anymore. Sylv said to give you a chance, considering how annoying you’ve been lately, with your guilt looks and the five dozen apologies. I’m trying. Don’t make me regret it.”

Luke sighs. “I…I don’t mean to, Michael. I don’t mean to be irritating. I’m not used to change. I don’t like it. I like when things are the same – it’s easier for me. But then you show up, and you haven’t been…the best…at practice, and it pissed me off.”

Michael’s expression hardens. “Are you gonna insult my playing again? Because if you are, I’m going to Calc and telling Schwartz that it was your idea to ditch.”

Luke’s eyes widen. “No! I’m not trying to, fuck. I just…my dad is really into hockey. And he gets angry with every mistake I make. He’s one of those people that’s obsessed with winning, and he didn’t think your playing would get us a win at all.”

Michael scoffs. “That’s fuckin’ great, thanks so much. Glad to see your father has less faith in me than I have in myself.”

“Michael…”

“No. I have social anxiety and general anxiety disorder, Luke. I was diagnosed. I gave coach a note from my shrink. I don’t perform well in too much company. Too many people make me claustrophobic and I’m working on it. I fuckin’ rocked my try out. I’m a monster when I practice by myself or in front of Sylv. I _am_ good. So you and your dick of a father can fuckin’ suck it.”

…

“It’s almost been two weeks, but it still hurts so fuckin’ bad.”

“Badly, babe,” Sylvie corrects gently, helping Michael to lie back. She slides a pillow underneath his injured knee, and then pressures a kiss to his cheek. “There you go. How does that feel?”

“I feel like shit,” Michael mumbles, letting his body sag against the pillows. He looks exhausted, and Sylvie hates seeing it. Those crutches cannot be comfortable. “Talked to Luke today, though…”

“That’s good,” Sylvie replies. “He really is sorry. Ally’s been telling me how guilty he feels.”

“I know he’s guilty; he looks like a damn kicked puppy,” Michael replies tiredly, closing his eyes. “I told him about my anxiety.”

“Mikey…are you sure you’re ready for him to know? I know how you feel about opening up to people. He’s not going to take something like this lightly – he won’t just leave it.”

“Knowing him, he will.” Michael sighs and reaches for her. “I don’t know what he’ll do with the information, but he knows now, and if anything, he’ll be less of a dick because of it. Anything to get him off my back.”

“He doesn’t hate you anymore, isn’t that good?”

“He’s just acting like this because I’m on crutches for another couple weeks. Once I’m healed, he’ll go back to the fucking dick he’s always been. It’s an act, Sylv. It’s always been an act. He wouldn’t have even come to apologize, if coach and Ashton hadn’t made him. He’s just doing this to satisfy them.”

“I don’t think that’s true, babe. Ally’s told me how bad Luke feels – it’s not something you can fake. I don’t think he’s that good of an actor.”

“He probably is,” Michael replies. “He spouted some bull about his father hating me because I was playing shit at practice, so I told him why. I’m sick of them and everyone else thinking I got on the team because of pity. I don’t like the idea of people talking about me behind my back, so it’s better that they know. I’m good at hockey. Just fucked up in the head. Which somehow seems to affect everything, fuckin’ wonderful.”

“You’re not fucked up in the head, stop that.” Sylvie sighs and moves his fringe out his eyes. “You have an anxiety disorder, and that’s not something you asked for or something you can control. Once you heal up, Calum can continue helping you with the confidence. You’ll be able to do this one day.”

“Not soon enough. I’ll probably get kicked off the team before then.”

“Mikey…”

Michael blinks and shakes his head. “Don’t. I just…I can’t right now.”

…

“So, Ashton thinks I’m some sort of invalid.”

Calum tilts his head back against the couch and closes his eyes. “I don’t know why he’s smothering me. I get hurt all the damn time at practice and he doesn’t give two shits.”

“Maybe because you were fucking _mugged_?” 

“I’m a hockey player. It’s not hard to fight someone off. This is nothing compared to what could’ve happened.” Lying to his girlfriend is a lot easier, somehow. Calum isn’t as nervous as when he was lying to Ashton – maybe because he’s been friends with Ashton for almost eight years.

Ashton can suspect a lie really quickly. He knows Calum’s quirks and how to tell when he’s not being truthful. Although he’s been dating Kyra for a while now, she still doesn’t know him as well as Ashton does.

“He’s your best friend, give him a break.” She leans in and kisses his cheek. “If it were my best friend, I’d be scared as all hell and after it was over I’d cling like fuck. You gave him a scare.”

“I know, but I just…I don’t want him to waste his time worrying about me. The guy has enough on his plate, with hockey, school, Harry and Lauren…he’s running himself ragged. He doesn’t have the time or the energy to worry about me.”

“But he’ll do it anyway. He’s your best friend, Cal.”

Calum sighs, changing the subject. “Winter break needs to hurry the fuck up. I’m tired and I feel like shit and I just don’t want to go to school anymore.”

“We’ve got a few more weeks…but why don’t you take a couple days off practice? Your coach will understand, and you have Ashton as a witness.”

“I can’t,” Calum mutters. “We play Cherokee next week. They need me to play in that. I’m the only one that can break their offensive line. And if I don’t go to practice, I won’t be in on the strategies and I won’t know how to do it properly. This is important, Kyra.”

“But so is your health.”

“It’s not like I neglect my health on a daily basis. This is just a one time thing. I’ll rest after the game. I’ll rest after we beat the shit out of them.”

“I’m worried about you, Cal…”

“It seems like everyone is,” Calum replies bitterly. “And I don’t need your guys’ worry. I can take care of myself. I know my limits, and I haven’t surpassed them yet. No one knows me better than I know myself.”

Before she has a chance to answer, Calum’s phone rings loudly, the shrill tone sending his head into agony. He groans, reaching for it.

“Mikey, what the fuck do you want? I just talked to you an hour ago.”

“Ashton’s in the hospital.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, school started recently and it's been really busy. Hopefully the next chapter will come quicker. Trigger warnings for graphic self-harm, disassociation, and mentions of depression. Enjoy.

_Three hours earlier_

A way to cope is extremely necessary.

Everything kept building up, his emotions going absolutely haywire as multiple thoughts race in his mind. He doesn’t know where one thought ends and another begins. Everything is blurred in his mind, leaving no sense of clarity. 

Nothing feels real. 

He’s dizzy, unable to distinguish reality from a fantasy world his mind has created. The feeling is foreign, but agonizing. He doesn’t know what this is, but everything feels wrong and he doesn’t know where to turn. He needs to calm down, but it’s easier said than done. He can’t breathe. 

The glimmer of something on his bathroom counter sticks out to him. He blinks a few times, his vision finally focusing enough to show him that the object is one of his razors. They’re the disposable kind, the ones he uses to shave.

Another thought crosses his mind, previously one he was horrified at. Now it’s a matter of being able to grab that razor and break it before he ends up passing out. 

He reaches for it, fingers closing around the razor, and fiddles with it for a few seconds. He has to break it, and he’s never broken a razor before. This isn’t something he’s used to doing. It takes him a long time, but he finally gets the blade out, his fingers shaking as he grasps it tightly.

He’s never done this before, but he’s wanted to, many times. He’s always been able to stop himself, but now…now, he doesn’t think he’ll have enough strength to stop. He’s always felt incredibly stressed, extremely pressured, and he’s always needed a form of release. And now, he thinks he’s finally found one. 

He pushes his sleeve up and presses the blade to his wrist, and then drags it across.  
…

“What the _hell_ happened?”

Kendall’s eyes are wide and her heart is racing as she stares at Ashton’s mum. Getting a call about her boyfriend fainting and being rushed to the hospital is something she definitely didn’t expect today.

“He fainted,” Anne Marie says, her voice raw from crying. “He went up to his room to do homework, while I started on dinner, and then when it was ready, I called him, but he never came. So I went up to check on him, and he was unconscious on the floor.”

“Oh my god…” Kendall whispers, the nauseous, dizzy feeling draping over her and causing her legs to stop working. She collapses in the chair next to Anne, closing her eyes and trying to let her mind process the information. 

“He didn’t wake up in the ambulance, and they took him in to a trauma room to try and replenish fluids and make sure there’s nothing wrong in his head, in his brain. He’s resting in a room now. He hasn’t woken up yet.”

Kendall nods. She’s trying her best to stay calm despite her inner need to freak out. Ashton is someone that means more to her than anyone else in this world. He’s the one person she can count on for anything, the only person she’s ever learnt to rely on. It’s times like these when she curses herself for letting so much of her be dependent on another person. When he gets hurt, when something happens to him, she can’t cope. 

“There’s something else…” Anne Marie’s voice becomes more choked as she utters that sentence. It sparks another wave of panic, and Kendall can feel her heart start to speed up again, beating so loud she’s surprised Ashton’s mum can’t hear it. 

“What’s wrong with him?” 

“I think it’d be easier for him to tell you,” Anne Marie replies. “He can have visitors. Room 495. I just came from seeing him. The kids are with a neighbor, I have to go pick them up. Stay with him, please? I don’t want him to be alone…”

“Of course,” Kendall forces a smile and puts a hand on the older woman’s shoulder. She doesn’t hold any remorse toward Ashton’s mother. The poor woman is in an impossible situation, having to raise three kids by herself. She works two jobs and is in a constant state of exhaustion, Kendall feels more sorry for her than anything. 

“Thank you, hun,” Anne Marie replies. Kendall watches her swallow down a sob, before she leaves the waiting room. 

She makes her way to the elevator and tries to force tears back. Ashton hates to see her cry. If he’s awake when she gets into the room, seeing her tears won’t make him happy. All that’s on her mind right now is making him happy and taking care of him until he feels better.

…

“Mmmm…Ken…?”

Kendall looks up with wide eyes, tightening her grip on her boyfriend’s hand. “Hi, babe. Do you know where you are?”

“Hospital?” Ashton’s voice is rough with exhaustion and he’s blinking rapidly, eyes trying to adjust to the pristine white surroundings. 

“Yeah, you passed out a few hours ago. You’re exhausted and dehydrated, baby. They’re giving up fluids and shit to make you feel better.”

Ashton nods, tilting his head downward. Kendall catches a tear slipping down his cheek and sighs. 

“You’re okay,” she murmurs, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“M’not okay, Ken,” Ashton mutters. “I know why I passed out.”

“Your mum said there’s something else…she wouldn’t tell me what it was…” Kendall looks him over, scrutinizing, trying to find anything wrong. He looks okay, in her eyes. Just pale and tired, but besides that, okay. 

Ashton lifts his left arm out in front of her, showing her a piece of gauze on his wrist, under his hand. 

“Can I?” 

He nods again, looking away.

She pulls the gauze off, and then her heart sinks. There’s four cuts, four straight lines, bloody and pinkish. They’re fresh.

“Oh, baby…”

“I couldn’t do it, Ken…” Ashton whispers. “I passed out from blood loss combined with exhaustion. Probably wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t done this.”

“Never again.” Kendall forces him to meet her eyes. “You are never going to hurt yourself like this ever again.”

…

“How is he?”

“Tired,” Kendall replies, smiling at Michael and Calum. Ashton fell asleep a few minutes ago. They talked about his cuts, why he did it, things like that. She cried, he cried, there was a lot of crying. And he made her promise not to tell anyone else, including his teammates, so she’s keeping it quiet. Just between his mum, himself, and her. 

“He just fainted…?”

“He’s been overworking himself a lot, lately,” Kendall explains. “He’s stressed about so much, and he hasn’t been sleeping well. He’ll be alright. They’re rehydrating him and giving him shit to help him sleep, so he’s getting better.”

“Jesus,” Calum mutters. “He’s an idiot.”

“You’ve got that right,” Kendall replies. “Doesn’t know when to take a break.”

“I love him and all, but I wanna fucking choke him right now,” Calum continues. “What idiot overworks themselves to the point that they end up in the hospital with an IV in their arm?”

“Ashton, apparently,” Michael says, lowering himself into a chair. Calum reaches out to help, but the red-haired boy shakes his head and leans his crutches against the wall. 

“Coach is benching him for a couple weeks,” Calum adds. “He can’t get back on the ice until he’s got a clean bill of health and he learns when to take a break.”

“Good,” Kendall replies. “He needs a break. He’s tired and he’s stressed and I think he might get sick if he keeps going on like this. He needs some time to just rest. Just school, home, homework, bed. Being captain is a lot of work.”

“Knowing him, he’s gonna insist on coming to practice anyway.” Calum rolls his eyes. “I’ve known this dumbass for five years, and he’s always been the kind of person that makes everyone else happy, before himself. And it always backfires on him. He’s so selfless, and it’s a blessing and a curse.”

Kendall looks at her boyfriend sadly, thinking of the cuts on his wrist. “I know what you mean.”

…

“Alright guys, good job today! With Irwin out for a while, we’ll need to play our absolute best if we want to beat Cherokee tomorrow!”

Calum skates over to the locker room, following Luke inside. He’s breathing hard as he takes off his gear, removing the helmet and padding. “Jesus. I never realized how vital Ash is.”

“Yeah, he better be back soon,” Luke replies. “We need him.”

“S’good that he’s out for the next week and a half, though,” Calum mutters. “That moron doesn’t know when to take a break. This allows him to rest and stop trying to fucking take on more than he’s capable of.”

“That’s what Ashton does.” Alex joins them, pulling his helmet off and shaking out his hair. “He thinks about everyone before his damn self. And we’ve taken advantage of that. We really need to learn how to play without him, because things like this happen, and he won’t always be there to be our safety net.”

“You make a good point.” Calum nods. “I went to see him yesterday. They’re releasing him today, on strict orders for him to rest. No hockey for a week and a half, and he needs to take it easy, even when he does come back. We can’t have him passing out on us again.”

“I might go see him…” Luke says softly. “I’ll wait until he’s home, though.”

“I thought you hated him?” Calum glances at Luke weirdly. “You both have never seen eye to eye.”

“Yeah, but since he’s been gone, I’ve realized that he really does hold us together, and all the shit I’ve been upset at him for…he’s trying to do his job at captain. He’s not trying to give me a hard time, I’m just making it difficult.”

“Finally,” Calum sighs. “Thought you’d never realize that.”

“Fuck off, Cal.”

“Just go shower and then go to his house.” Calum ignores what Luke’s said and grabs his towel. “Tell him what you just told me. It’ll make him really fuckin’ happy, trust me.”

…

“Holy shit.”

Luke stares and Ashton freezes. 

The captain is holding a blade above his left wrist. Luke can see four healing cuts, and Ashton is obviously about to add to that number.

“Please,” Ashton whispers. “Please don’t say anything. Let me explain first.”

“Give me the blade,” Luke whispers. He holds a hand out, and Ashton drops his head, handing the shiny piece of metal over. Luke grabs it and turns it over in his hand, his stomach turning at the thought of Ashton sinking this into his skin.

“I’m under so much pressure and so much stress and my mind is all fucked up and I didn’t know what else to do. I cut the day I fainted. That’s where these four are from. That’s why I passed out. Blood loss combined with exhaustion and dehydration. Kendall knows. My mum knows. And now…you do.”

“Do they know you’re still doing it?” Luke asks. 

Ashton’s silence is his answer.

“This is serious, Ashton…”

“I know,” Ashton whispers. “I just…I can’t cope without hockey. As much as it makes me stressed and tired and shit because I’m captain, it’s a source of escape and the only time I actually feel free. I can’t cope without hockey. That’s why. I’m stopping, I promise. Just…please don’t tell…”

Luke sighs. “I won’t tell, if you promise me you’ll stop. And if you ever have an urge, text me or come to me, or _something_. I can’t bear to see you do something like this to yourself.”

“Why would I come to you? You hate me,” Ashton mumbles sadly. “You’ve made it very clear.”

Luke heaves another heavy sigh. “I don’t…I don’t hate you. That’s what I was coming over here to tell you. I don’t hate you. From not having you at practice, it’s made me realize that all you were trying to do was hold the team together, and it’s my fault for being stubborn and argumentative and not wanting to cooperate. I’m sorry for that.”

Ashton smiles weakly at him. “That means a lot. Thank you.”

“Can I hug you?” Luke asks softly. “I know we’re not the best of friends, but I really want to help you…I don’t want you to hurt yourself anymore. You don’t deserve it.”

Ashton nods, opening his arms. Luke hugs him tightly, relishing the good relations he’s started to form. It’s a lot better to be friends with all of your teammates, rather than have them despise you.

Now, if he could only figure out how to make it up to Michael and get back on his good side…


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this is late, school's been an absolute bitch. I'll try to post the next chapter next weekend, but I can't make any promises. 
> 
> Trigger warnings for self-harm, depression, and mentions of suicidal thoughts.

It only takes three days for him to realize how vital hockey is.

He never imagined his reliance on the sport, and it honestly seems ridiculous. Saying that he needs to play hockey to feel okay, that he needs to be out on the ice to feel okay, when that simultaneously was a contributing factor in his collapse. Hockey is both a stress-reliever and extremely stressful, especially because he’s captain. It probably wouldn’t be as bad, if he weren’t held to such high expectations. 

Despite all of that, all of the added stress hockey is to him, it’s also his time to let everything out. He can be as aggressive as he wants on the ice – no one will tell him to et up. As long as he’s not seriously injuring another player or doing anything out of line, he’s perfectly okay to tackle people and try and fight his way to victory. It’s why he plays better offense than anything.

If he’s really honest, the break has been anything _but_ a break. He’s constantly worrying about the state of the team, whether they’ve ripped one another’s heads off yet, and most importantly, how the hell they’re gonna beat Cherokee. This fucking break they’re making him take is almost doing more harm than good. 

Luke’s promise to stop getting into fights with the team and start cooperating and being a team player has soothed some of his doubts, but it’s hard to picture the previously stoic, cold-hearted blond being amicable and cooperative with a team he’s held hostility toward in the past. Luke does what he has to during the games, but it’s no secret that he doesn’t like any of the team members off the ice. That may be in the process of changing, but Ashton isn’t so sure Luke is even capable of that much change. The blond hasn’t shown any signs of being able to amend his shitty ways and become a better player. 

So, in the midst of all of this, he’s breaking his own promise. It’s not like it was made to Michael or Calum or his mum or Harry or Lauren, he promised Luke he’d try and stop cutting, and he has tried. It just hasn’t worked. The feeling that slicing a blade into his flesh gives him is the only source of respite he has without hockey, and even when he’s cleared to play again, taking pain out on himself makes him feel something, as fucked up and ridiculous as it sounds.

Feeling numb is one of the worst things in the world. He never knew how bad it’d feel to not feel anything, and he’s seriously regretting all the times he wished that he didn’t have emotions. Yeah, there are days on which he just wants to condense his emotions into a tiny ball and crush them with a boulder, but that’s impossible, and obviously not plausible. Every human being has emotions – uncontrollable ones, at that, and he shouldn’t try and get rid of them. They’re there for a reason. Only now they’re going away on their own, and he doesn’t feel like a human anymore.

He’s never been a robot, but he’s pretty sure the things he’s been feeling can be likened to one. He’s just existing, he’s not living, he’s not feeling, and he doesn’t have the motivation to go on like this any longer. Everything – although seemingly put together in front of him – is falling apart, and he’s trying so hard to hold the pieces together, to hold everyone in his life together, but nothing’s working. 

And he’s stretched so thin that he’s about to break.

…

“Great job, Luke! You scored two goals and made three assists! That’s one of your best records during a scrimmage!”

Luke smiles bashfully as he’s praised, pulling off his helmet and sitting down on one of the benches in the locker room to start stripping of his other gear. 

“I talked to Ashton. And I really am serious about changing. I want to be a better player, I want to be someone the team can count on.”

“You’re doing a good job of it.”

Luke freezes, whirling around. “What are you _doing_ here?”

Michael rolls his eyes. “I can’t play, but I _can_ watch. And you looked great out there. Sounds like you’re finally sorry for all the shit you’ve done.”

“I was sorry the moment it happened!”

“No, you weren’t,” Michael replies, crutching over to take a seat beside him. “You weren’t sorry from the beginning. You coming over to my house to apologize was because the coach and Ash made you. And you carrying my shit from class to class was also because they made you. You’ve said sorry too many damn times to count, but you’ve never really meant it. You’ve said it because people have made you feel guilty and you’ve seen me in pain and that made you feel worse. But you’ve never really been sorry, until now. Now, you’ve finally seen what an asshole you were, and you’re working on it. _That’s_ what being sorry truly means.” Michael pauses and smiles at him. “And you know what that means?”

“What?”

“It means I can finally forgive you for real and we can start over.”

…

Luke doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this before.

The happiness he got, the elated joy he felt when Michael said that he finally forgave him…nothing can match that. There has never been a moment in his life to rival that moment, and he doesn’t know if there will ever be one. He felt butterflies in his stomach, an ache in his chest (the good kind), and just…a burst of happiness that’s been so foreign in his life until now.

He doesn’t know why he’s so happy that Michael’s finally forgiven him. He had no idea he was even waiting for the older lad’s genuine forgiveness, until it actually happened. Michael smiling at him and finally saying they could start over made him happier than he’s been in a long time, and as elated as he is about it, he’s also baffled. It doesn’t make much sense, to be honest. 

There was just something about Michael’s face after he finished talking. Something about the smile that graced it, something about the way he allowed Luke to hug him for the first time since everything. It felt different…nothing like he’d ever felt before, and Luke is both confused and scared of what’s coming next.

Something is different.

Something has been different for a long time, and he’s finally close enough to figuring out what it is, but he can’t quite put his finger on it. There’s just something…something special about the way Michael looks, the way he acts, the way he sees the world. It’s fascinating. Luke doesn’t think he’s ever felt like that about anyone else before. Michael fascinates him, makes him feel so different. It’s like he could spend days listening to Michael talk about what makes him happy, what doesn’t what he doesn’t like about the world, everything. Luke’s willing to listen.

He feels close to Michael in an inanimate way – they’ve never really clicked until today, but Luke feels like he’s been friends with him since the very beginning. It’s weird, for lack of a better word. It’s strange and there’s a part of Luke that just wants the world to shrink down to him and Michael, no one else. He wants to talk to Michael forever, talk about anything and everything. 

Most of all, he wants to know who and what broke Michael. He wants to know what shattered the seemingly amazing boy, because the anxiety disorders he has are not minor nor are they something to brush aside. They’re serious and they seem taxing and exhausting, and goddamn, he feels usch a sense of protectiveness over the red-haired lad, he has no idea what to do with it. It doesn’t make sense. He hated Michael a couple weeks ago, and now he wants to stay up all hours of the night talking to him, and he has an overwhelming urge to protect him from all that is bad in the world. It makes no shred of sense, but Luke doesn’t mind at all.

He almost likes the feeling. He doesn’t know what it is or where it came from, but he’s starting to like it, and to almost crave it. It’s a matter of counting down hours until the new day arrives and he can see Michael again. It’s almost like an obsession, but it’s not something mindless that’ll be over in a few weeks. This is something Luke wants to last for a lifetime and then some. He never wants this feeling to go away, he never wants to have to live life without feeling like this.

It’s confusing and it doesn’t make sense and he honestly doesn’t _know_ what he feels for Michael, but something that feels this good, _cannot_ be bad. He knows that for sure.

…

“Hey, how’s my favorite baby sister doing?” 

Ashton plops himself down on the couch next to Lauren, pulling her into his lap. She smiles, leaning head on his chest and pressing her ear against him. It feels nice, to hold her close and remind himself that throughout everything, he’ll always have his family. 

“Better, Ashy,” Lauren murmurs against his chest. “Been feeling a lot better, lately. Thank you.”

“For what?” He squeezes her tightly, dropping a kiss on her head. “I haven’t done anything. You’re feeling better because you’re strong and you’re beautiful and you’ve been able to make that happen, not because of me.”

Lauren rolls her eyes and slaps his arm. “Stop selling yourself short. You deserve some credit. You make me feel okay, Ashy. And I really needed it. I needed to feel like I was okay somewhere, and now I know that I’m always okay when I’m with you. I’m always safe when I’m with you.”

The warmth in Ashton’s heart just bursts, hearing that. Tears burn in his eyes, as he brings her up, letting her pillow her head on his shoulder and allowing him to hold her even tighter, if possible. The feeling of guilt seeps through him like an infection, clawing at him painfully. How could he even _think_ about wanting to leave her? How could he possibly imagine her to be okay if he wasn’t there?

He’s selfish and greedy and self-centered and it’s not fair to her. It’s not fair at all. He can’t do anything when his sister is relying on him this much. He can’t break her anymore. It’s already his fault she’s been subjected to the psychological damage of bullying anyway, doing what he has in mind would break her to the point of no return, and he’s not ready to do that. 

He can’t do that. 

He _won’t_ do that.

He doesn’t have any room to be selfish. He doesn’t want to be resented. His father was selfish, picked himself over his family, the family he originally wanted. Thought he wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment and just picked up and left. And Ashton has never stopped resenting him for it. He doesn’t think he could stomach his brother and sister and mum feeling that way toward him. The thought makes him want to be sick.

“Ashy?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Take care of yourself,” Lauren whispers. “I know you’re juggling a lot with school and hockey and this being senior year and my shit and everything, but…you fainted, a few days ago, and it scared me…I can’t lose you, Ashy. I won’t survive.”

“Don’t you _dare_ say that,” Ashton responds fiercely, squeezing his eyes shut and holding her close to him. “Don’t say that. You are not a burden to me, and what happened was _not_ your fault. And you _will_ survive, no matter what happens to me. You can survive anything. You’ll do amazing things, babygirl. You’ve already made me so proud, and you’re never going to stop making me even prouder. You are absolutely brilliant, and breath-takingly beautiful. I love you so much.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, damn. I'm sorry guys, I've just been so busy, and November was NaNoWriMo so I was even busier. It's been so long since I've written for this story, so I'm not sure if this chapter is any good, but it's all Muke, so I hope you'll enjoy it. The next chapter will be all Cashton, to balance it out. Enjoy.

It’s a bad knee day.

His knee is healing well – at least, that’s what the doctor said at this last follow up, but it fucking _hurts_. Torn ligaments hurt worse than sprains, but they swell and ache and throb all the same. The doctor said there’d be some days it hurts more than others, and those are the days he should try and avoid putting any kind of weight on it, bending it, anything of the sort. The ideal situation would be having his knee elevated and iced, and taking some painkillers. 

Unfortunately, school’s not over yet, and he’s absolutely miserable. 

He really should be paying attention – this is a concept he doesn’t understand in Physics – but his head hurts, his knee aches, and his ribs seem to have chosen today, of all days, to raise hell. He feels awful and he really wishes this day would be over. 

The worst part about it is that Sylvie’s really busy tonight, with homework and a rehearsal for the play. She can’t come over to hold him and kiss his face and make him feel better. She’s the best distraction ever – it’s easy for him to get lost in his girlfriend when they’re together, but tonight, that won’t be the case.

He manages to get through the rest of the period, barely. His head is spinning with all the new information he doesn’t understand, his entire body hurts, and all he’d like to do is collapse into a puddle of tears because he’s so damn frustrated.

This was his last class, but he planned to go watch the hockey practice, even though now he knows it’d make him feel even worse about himself. Hockey is so important to him, in more ways than one. It’s the time he allows himself to be as aggressive as he wants, the time when he’s able to let out all his pent up anger he’s been harboring throughout the day. It’s his release, his coping mechanism, and now it’s gone.

Even in two weeks, after his knee supposedly heals, he still needs to go through physical therapy to strengthen in, which is going to be even more painful. A large part of him wants to hate Luke with all he has in him, for causing this, but he can’t do that. Moving forward doesn’t mean holding grudges from the past, and Luke’s proven that he really is sorry.

He’s just so fucking frustrated and nothing is going right.

“Michael?”

He lifts his head, almost dropping it right back down when he realizes who’s talking to him. Luke is the last person he’d want to see right now. Not because he’s pissed at him, but because he doesn’t want to go off on Luke when things just started getting better between them. They can’t go back to square one this quickly.

“Luke, not now.” The pain in his voice is evident, and he doesn’t even care anymore. Luke should realize that his injuries are going to cause pain – especially the ribs. Breathing is hell. He can’t walk, sitting down, having to bend his knee to do it, is absolute agony…basically, everything hurts.

“I gotta help you home…”

“You have practice, it’s okay.” He’s trying so hard to keep the tears out of his eyes, but it’s not working. Everything is a mess and he doesn’t know how to deal with any of it besides breaking down in tears. All he really wants at the moment is his girlfriend, so he can fall apart in her arms because that’s the only place he feels safe enough to do it. 

“Michael, are you crying…?”

“No!” His voice betrays him, cracking in multiple octaves and letting his pent up emotion spill out through them.

Luke slides into the desk next to him and faces him worriedly, eyes flittering over Michael for anything obviously wrong. “What happened? Are you hurt? Did someone say something to you?”

“Yeah I’m fucking hurt, you’re the one who made me this way!” Michael hates himself immediately, seeing Luke flinch back, the guilty look returning to his eyes. He clenches his teeth and sighs, shaking his head. “Sorry, I just…my knee and ribs really hurt and I have a really shitty headache... I feel like utter shit and my girlfriend can’t come over tonight, it’s just a bad day.”

“You could’ve said something earlier.” Luke’s face softens, and he straightens, holding out a hand. “Come on. I’ll take you home and stay with you for a bit. Maybe we can call your girlfriend. It may help just to hear her voice.”

“You have practice,” Michael whispers, his voice cracking again. He’s accepted it. Fuck being 17, his voice still cracks like he’s a 14 year old. 

“I’ll ditch,” Luke replies. “Missing one practice won’t kill me. They’ll understand. You need someone right now.”

…

“Oh my god it’s swelling so bad,” Michael moans, collapsing onto the couch. He regrets the decision a moment later, when it jars his knee and sends spikes of pain up his leg. “Fuck.”

“You’re making it worse.” Luke rolls his eyes, pulling an ice pack out of the fridge. “ _Rest_. Don’t try and move it in ways that’ll be painful. Let it heal properly.”

“M’so sick of not being able to do shit,” Michael mumbles, then whines when Luke grabs his leg and lifts it onto the coffee table. “Jesus, warn a guy, would ya?”

“Sorry.” Luke doesn’t look sorry at all. He begins taking Michael’s brace off, and Michael leans his head back, squeezing his eyes shut and trying not to cry out in pain. It really fucking hurts. He’s not sure if it’s supposed to be this bad, this is agony. 

“I’m just gonna-”

“Do whatever you have to. Just hurry the fuck up.”

Luke manages to get the brace off, and once he does, he has to stop for a moment and compose himself. Michael’s knee is bruised and swollen, red and warm to touch from how much it’s already swollen up. It’s hard – knowing _he_ caused this. Michael doesn’t deserve this. 

He’s in pain, and Luke hates seeing it. He hates seeing Michael’s eyes glazed over from pain, the huge purple bags prominent underneath. He hates how exhausted the red-haired boy looks, and how badly a toll his injuries are taking on him. It just makes Luke feel worse for the entire thing, how he judged Michael without even getting to know him, and if he hadn’t, none of this would’ve ever happened. He really hates himself for what he’s done.

“You’re good.” He straightens and takes a seat next to Michael, slumping into the couch cushion exhaustedly. “You’re all set with the ice and shit, try and avoid putting weight on it for a few days. I think you’re straining it.”

“I’m not walking on it…”

“Yeah, but all the bending and extra movement is bound to take a toll. Just give it a rest for a few days.”

Michael nods without opening his eyes. “Stop feeling guilty. This may be your fault, but it’s time we move past it.”

“How’d you know what I was feeling?”

“You’re not that hard of a person to read, Luke. And anyone can see it in your eyes. Yeah, you fucked up, and I’m in hell right now, because of it, but it’s over. You apologized and you’ve made it up to me, there’s nothing you can do about it now.”

…

Luke ends up helping Michael into his bedroom and settling him in bed before he leaves, making sure that the red-haired boy has absolutely everything he could possibly need, so he doesn’t get up. Unless it’s to use the bathroom, Michael has no reason to move. 

He leaves Michael’s house feeling satisfied. Even though he’s inherently the cause of Michael’s pain right now, he was able to help him out and make him feel better. That’s always a plus. He just feels really bad about the whole situation. It really doesn’t seem like Michael has the best home life.

It’s almost 6:30, and Michael’s parents still haven’t shown any signs of being home soon. A housekeeper brought up dinner for him, and Michael accepted it with a fake smile and tears in his eyes. It makes Luke’s heart ache. No wonder he has anxiety disorders – neglect can do that to a person. 

His own home life may not be that great, but at least his parents are there for him and ready to help him out if he needs them. His parents give him attention and make him feel loved (at times), but Michael doesn’t get any of it. He’s always alone in that huge ass mansion, Luke can see why he’s so quiet and withdrawn. He’s not used to contact with people, it makes him nervous, and now Luke’s finally able to understand why.

He hates the way he treated Michael in the beginning. Calling him fat, telling him he needed to lose weight, making fun of him for being nervous around the team…god, he was such an asshole. It’s enlightening, finally being able to see what people have been trying to tell him for so long. He’s really been a dick, and Michael didn’t deserve any of it.

Michael took it so well. He hasn’t cursed him out or told him to go to hell or anything stereotypically expected for him to say. Michael’s only been absolutely pissed at him once, right after his accident. And rightfully so, Luke would’ve been surprised if Michael wasn’t pissed at him for that. He really fucked up.

It’s weird. Luke has the urge to go back to Michael’s house and climb into bed with him. He has the urge to climb into bed with Michael and pull him into his arms. He wants to hold Michael until all the pain goes away, try and fix what he broke. He wants to make Michael feel whole again, because he knows that Michael feels empty, if not by what he said, by how desperate the look in his eyes was. He just wants to take care of Michael, and he finds the notion so weird.

The entire situation with Michael is weird, but it’s a good kind of weird. He wouldn’t mind this being his life every day for the rest of his life, if possible. Michael is an amazing person, and Luke is so pissed at himself for having to tear him down to see that.

…

“Luke really helped you out?”

“Yeah…he helped with the ice and everything, and he stayed for a while. He’s been pretty nice in the past few days. I think he’s trying to make up for what he did.” 

He can almost hear Sylvie’s smile in her voice. “That’s so great, babe. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you tonight…”

“S’okay,” Michael mumbles. “It was just a really shitty day. But at least Luke was there. I just don’t know how long I can do this, Sylv. It’s getting too hard.”

“Oh, baby…” Sylvie sighs into the phone. “I wish I could hold you right now, because you sound like you really need it.”

“I’m nothing without hockey,” Michael whispers. “And I don’t know how long I can survive without it.”

“As long as you need to,” Sylvie replies firmly. “You’re doing so well, babe. You’re handling it the best you can, and you’ll be able to hang on for a little while longer. I know you, and you can do this.”

“I don’t know if I can…”

“Mikey, stop. You’re just gonna make yourself sad again, and I don’t want you sad when I’m not there to hold you and make you feel better. You need to rest, babe. Your knee’s been acting up because of overuse. Try and get some sleep, okay?”

“It’s so hard to fall asleep. I don’t know what to do anymore, Sylv…”

“I’m coming over in the morning. We have the entire weekend to ourselves. I know I’ve been busy with the play and everything, but I have a free weekend. So we’ll spend it cuddling in bed and you’ll finally feel okay. Does that sound good?”

Michael nods into the phone, affirming to her statement softly when he realizes she can’t hear him. 

“I love you, Mikey.”

“Love you too, Sylv.”

“Now get some sleep, baby. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

“I can’t wait.”


End file.
